Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame
by Proud to be Plug
Summary: Cyrus Wright and his friends have met their true enemy - but they have yet to understand him. Now, their path through the shadows grows increasingly uncertain, as primordial threats and human struggles put the future of Olympus in doubt. Failure is quickly becoming the most likely outcome. Third book in the Piece of Darkness saga.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note: And here we go again.**

**And so here, almost exactly one year to the day since I began publishing Gambit, is the third book in my little series. This would have seen the light of day far sooner, were it not for the fact that it took me so long to write the first draft. A mixture of lethargy and bad time management on my part meant that it took far longer to get that first draft finished than it really ought to have done. Nevertheless, here it is at last, presented to you, my eager though often invisible readers.**

**At this point in the series there are few concessions for those who have not read the previous two books. While you can read this with no prior knowledge of the Piece of Darkness series and presumably still enjoy it, you will clearly not get the full effect unless you have read Rise of the Forgotten, A Knight or a Pawn and Gambit.**

**(Dear God, look at me, building up a back catalogue.)**

**This is the longest story so far, standing at twenty-five chapters. It is also the most action-packed, with a far better drama-to-conversation ratio than anything I have hitherto written. **

**As usual, I'll be putting up one chapter a week.**

**Now, read, enjoy, and do try to review. ;-)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

_"__Now," the Leanansidhe said. "If you are quite finished holding hostage my imagination, pray continue."_

–Jim Butcher, 'Ghost Story'

* * *

Every chess match has a particular structure.

There's the opening moves, usually the most boring stage of the match, as both players do little more than prepare their pieces for the initial forays into the opposing side of the board. Various pieces are introduced and certain positions are taken.

Then, the first gambits are played. Both players find a particular strategic stance and are ready to commit to an attack, so they make moves into each other's territory. The complexity of play increases and the first significant captures are made.

Now, the match comes into its central phase. Many pieces on the board may be trapped in deadlock, and the pressure is building on both players. Any decision made at this stage, even the smallest one, can have a huge effect on not just the next few turns, but the very outcome of the game.

This is what we call the _middlegame_.

"The Celts - or some of them, at least - were a brutal race," my grandfather told me. "Like many of the ancient peoples, they practiced human sacrifice for much of their history."

"'Practiced'?" I interrupted. "How exactly did they 'practice' it? Did they take a few unlucky souls out into a field and say, 'Hold still while we practice killing you'?"

My grandfather laughed, his eyes twinkling a little, the way all grandfathers' eyes should.

"That's a good point," he nodded. "Maybe 'practiced' is the wrong word to use… Or perhaps they just weren't very good at it." He trailed off, his gaze drifting up to the greyish-white sky above us, as though the right word would fall down amidst the snowflakes.

We were sitting in Grandpa's kitchen, looking out onto his snow-covered garden. The weather had changed a few days ago, as though the very air had known that we were nearing Christmastime, and the snow had fallen almost unceasingly since then. I'd arrived at my grandfather's house in Staten Island less than an hour ago, having walked from my home. I'd slipped three times on the way, and only my years of martial arts training had saved me from breaking a bone. Each time my legs had gone out from under me, I'd recalled those lessons on the correct way to fall - or _ukemi_, to use the Japanese term - and landed onto the hard, icy concrete with confidence.

(Although that doesn't mean it had been _comfortable_.)

"At any rate, human sacrifice very much _went on_," Grandpa resumed. "It was carried out by the priests of the Celts—"

"The Druids?"

"That's right." he said, with a nod. "The Druids were the true rulers of Celtic society. Not only were they considered men of infinite wisdom, but they were believed to be capable of astonishing feats of magic."

I nodded, turning away from the window and looking across the table at him.

Grandpa Riordan himself looked like a man of great wisdom. Like his daughter, he possessed a strength of presence which belied his small build and medium height. His face was tanned and worn from years of travel, but when you looked in his eyes you did not see the weariness of age: only the intelligence of experience. We often called him Old Scribe, because of his vast knowledge of tales, legends and myths. Of course, like his own grandfather, his mother, his daughter and his grandson, William Riordan was clear-sighted.

"They were teachers, judges, priests, warmakers, peacemakers, healers…" Grandpa said. "They didn't just get like that overnight, mind you. They had to study for up to twenty years before they became fully-fledged Druids."

"Twenty _years_?" I echoed, aghast. I'd heard of long Ph.D programs, but that was ridiculous.

"It was to give time for their beard to grow out, you see," Grandpa said sagely, the laughter in his blue eyes belying the serious expression on his face.

I shook my head, not buying into his bad joke. I glanced around the kitchen.

It was just like any other kitchen - stove, refrigerator, cupboards, you name it. It was at the back of Grandpa's house, which was a typical house, with four walls, a roof, a front door, a back door (excitement, huh?) and a few windows. It was all terribly ordinary, and didn't quite seem to fit my grandfather, who had spent much of the last thirty years traveling to the most distant corners of whichever countries you can think of.

"Unfortunately, there's no written record of what the Druids were taught," Grandpa said, peering out the window, with a touch of forlornness in his frown. "Any knowledge they had is lost, or so the scholars tell us."

"That's a shame," I murmured.

Many people have boring or dislikable grandparents, but my grandfather was one of the most interesting people I knew. He was originally from Ireland, but he'd come to America in the 1960's, where he'd met my grandmother, Michelle. The two of them had settled down and had one child - my mother, Louise.

Sounds like a pretty typical story, right? But things changed once Grandpa got into his late forties. He'd worked in the New York Police Department for twenty years, but when he wrote a thriller based on a particularly bizarre encounter he'd had with a Mafia boss from Chicago, Grandpa's fortunes changed entirely. The novel - entitled _Me and Marcone_ \- took off, and when he'd sold the film rights to it, he'd made enough money to retire.

Whenever I tell people this story, they nod and say, okay, that was it, right?

Not exactly. Grandpa had always had a big appetite for adventure, and less than a month after retiring, he'd started traveling. His life's dream had been to see as many corners of the world as possible, and he'd gotten the chance to fulfil that. He and my grandmother had gone everywhere, going to all manner of places, in every continent, at any time. There was only two rules - they never went anywhere obvious; and if at all possible, they travelled on foot.

This naturally led to a wide range of escapades and adventures. Indeed, it led to enough stories that Grandpa had material for a second novel, which provided further funds for the endless traveling. He only took a real break when my grandmother died, four years ago.

As I sat there in his kitchen, though, I wondered if there was some things Grandpa had never told us. He never spoke about his clear sight, but I had a suspicion that, all the while, he hadn't just been traveling - he'd been searching for the reason why he could see things that were hidden to others.

Whether this theory was correct, and whether he'd ever learned the truth, I had no idea. I never asked him. As far as I was concerned, he was completely separate from the crazy world of the gods, and things were staying that way.

"Of course, none of the scholars actually _believe_ that the Druids were truly wizards," Grandpa said, looking back at me. He drummed his fingers against the side of his empty mug slowly. "They say they were just priests who tricked their semi-savage followers."

"Yeah," I nodded, draining the last drop of hot chocolate from my own mug. "But? I sense a but in there, Grandpa."

"Well, maybe I'm just a crazy old man," he said, shrugging. "But I sometimes think that there's more to those legends than just religious imagination. I'm not saying that they're all _true_, exactly, but…"

I watched him carefully. His brown, lined brow crinkled as he sought the next words.

"Look at it this way," he went on, looking at me steadily. "The Celts were noted specifically for their level of development. They weren't exactly the Enlightenment, but they were certainly far more advanced than your average bone-hefting savage. And yet this idea that the Druids were wizards and power-wielders seems like something that _only_ a community of savages would believe."

My eyes widened as I realised what he meant. "So you think…"

"I don't know exactly what I think," Grandpa amended, smiling in his enigmatic way. "But I suspect that some of those old stories about the Druids have a grain of truth in them, somewhere."

I nodded slowly, pondering this. I was about to reply, when my phone, which lay on the table in front of me, rang suddenly. And loudly.

We both jumped.

"Christ," Grandpa chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I hardly even twitched during that trek through the rain-forests of Colombia, but an overly loud ringtone makes me jump like a rabbit."

I smiled, and picked up the phone.

That smile died and was resurrected as a morbid grimace when I saw the caller ID.

_CHB_.

I swallowed slowly, watching the phone continue to ring, buzzing and blaring, for a long moment.

Then I declined the call, and stuffed the phone in my pocket.

"It can wait," I muttered in explanation to Grandpa, who looked a little curious. He nodded, and went back to staring at the falling snow. A brisk whirlwind of thoughts swept into my mind, and I sat in silence as I tried to beat down a gale of anger and unease.

"CHB" was, of course, Camp Half-Blood.

A year ago, I would've been more than eager to take the call, but after my friend Nico di Angelo had been taken by the terrible primordial being, Tartarus, my feelings towards that world of myth and monsters had changed quite a bit.

When Alice and I had gotten back to camp after our quest to the Edge of the West, far too many people seemed not to realise what we'd lost. Some did, of course - Chiron, Percy, Annabeth, a few others. But so many just didn't care. I'd known that Nico had never been popular at camp, but I hadn't realised how much antipathy there was towards the son of Hades. It wasn't that the campers hated him personally: they simply didn't _care_ about him. I tried to see things from their point of view, tried to understand that Nico scared most of them, that their reactions were natural.

But I've always been a bad liar - I can't even convince myself.

But I could have dealt with that. Sure, most of them were uninterested in the loss of one of the most important demigods alive, but I could've gotten over that.

The _other_ thing that had happened in the Underworld was that Hades, Lord of the Dead, had told me there was an old prophecy which foretold a time of great destruction for Olympus. This prophecy, he explained, said that one person would have the power to "hold back the shadows" when they rose to destroy the West.

Then Hades had said that many of the gods believed that said time of destruction was near, and that I was the one destined to save us all.

Initially I'd refused to believe this, thinking it was a load of mythological mumbo-jumbo. Eventually, though, my curiosity had driven me to put the pieces together. This mysterious prophecy could only be, I realised, the _prontos profiteia_ that Jake Wilson had told me about. And if the saviour foretold by it was going to "hold back the shadows", that could only mean the terrible threat to the West would be some sort of being with dominion over shadows and darkness.

Guess what powers Tartarus - who Hades called the gods' greatest enemy - had shown when we'd encountered him at the Edge of the West.

This all made sense, certainly, but then it didn't affect me, surely? Just because we were about to have an apocalypse of apocalypses, it didn't mean _I_ was the schmuck who was going to save the day. Someone else was bound to be sufficiently qualified to deal with that mess. Right?

Wrong.

A little conversation I'd had with Amichanos, spirit of self-knowledge, gave me evidence to the contrary. As it turned out, I had pure sight, which meant that I could see through absolutely any illusion you can think of.

(Oh, and apparently I was the first person to have the gift of pure sight since Olympus had come to America.)

I tried all manner of arguments to work around this, but the bare facts couldn't be changed. Whatever I thought about it, the idea that I was the one who could stop Tartarus was entirely plausible. A bit _too_ plausible, if you know what I mean.

Okay, Cyrus, you say, but what the hell does all this have to do with camp?

Everything. When I got back to Camp Half-Blood and asked Chiron about what Hades had told me, the centaur refused to explain anything to me.

He was very polite about it, of course, telling me that he was forbidden by the gods to speak about the prophecy. Still, a refusal is a refusal. Maybe I was being immature, but I took great offence at this. Hades _himself_ had told me of the prophecy - surely that was enough of a mandate for Chiron to tell me everything? What would it take for me to be told the full truth - did Zeus himself have to descend from Olympus and hand me a golden scroll?

So, the combination of these two issues meant that my feelings towards camp had greatly cooled. I still liked individual demigods, but the world of Greek myth was very definitely in my bad books. It was Christmastime now, five months since that trip to the Underworld, but my anger was still present - enough that I was hanging up on camp.

"I wonder, how many times," Grandpa said suddenly, his eyes flickering towards me and away again, "have I had to do something that I absolutely _hated_? Probably more than anyone could count. I used to fight it, but one day I realised that life is not really about what you _want_ to do - it's usually about what you _need_ to do. Sometimes those two things are the same but… not often."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. Grandpa had, probably without realising it, cut right to the core of my issues. Maybe I did feel angry towards camp, towards the world of the gods, but was it right to let that affect my judgement? If I insisted on being standoffish with Chiron just because I had a grievance, did that make me any nobler than Jake Wilson himself?

The phone rang again.

The direction of the wind in my emotional storm changed direction, and a sudden pang of guilt struck me. What, I thought uneasily, if something awful was happening, and I was the only one who could help? Someone's _life_ could depend on whether or not I was able to swallow my goddamn pride.

On the third ring, I pushed my chair back and stood up, murmuring, "Excuse me." As I turned away from the table, I thought I saw a small smile curl across my grandfather's face.

I left the kitchen and went into the hall, where I took the call.

"Hi," I said, leaning against the wall.

"Cyrus," Chiron's voice said immediately, sounding tight with anxiety. "How are you?"

"Uh," I said slowly, slightly surprised by the small talk. "I'm fine…"

"Nothing strange is happening where you are?"

"Um, no," I said. "Everything's fine here. No monsters or anything. Should there be… something?"

I heard an exhalation, one that sounded like a sigh of relief. After a brief pause, Chiron said, in a more relaxed tone than before, "Not necessarily, no. Ah. Do you think you could get to the Empire State Building?"

I blinked. I'd been anticipating a summons to camp, so this was puzzling. "The Empire State Building… when? Why?"

"As soon as you can," Chiron replied. "Something rather, ah, unusual is happening."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" Chiron paused, and there was a note of caution to it, as though he was trying to approach an awkward topic. "I don't wish to alarm you, but there's an army of ghosts moving across New York, heading towards the Empire State Building."

"Oh," I said slowly, finding it hard to process what I was hearing. "Um."

"Yes," the centaur went on, in an almost apologetic tone. "The strange thing is that they don't seem to be doing anything or trying to kill anyone. They're simply marching through the city. Intelligence reports suggest that they're too weak to be of any danger to anyone, but we're sending a few people to guard the entrance to Olympus, just in case."

"Okay," I replied, trying to take in the idea of a large but apparently unthreatening army of ghosts winding its way through the streets of New York. No wonder Chiron sounded so baffled. "Why do you need me?"

"They don't seem to be a threat, but there's always the chance that something is being veiled by illusions. I think you'll be able to see the situation more clearly ."

My stomach lurched a little. Chiron always avoided acknowledging that my sight was something useful. He saw that it was a sensitive subject for me, and so he always steered around it. Perhaps he was only trying to make me feel valued, but the lack of concealment showed that the situation could be more serious than he was letting on.

"Okay," I said. "I'll be there in about an hour."

"Great. Thank you," he replied, sounding relieved. "Good luck."

He hung up.

I stood there for a moment, contemplating things in the cool, calm quiet of the dark hall. Then I put my phone away and walked back into the kitchen, to tell Grandpa that I had to go.

"Something's sort of come up," I said, with an apologetic tone that belied the feeling of excitement stirring in my stomach. "I have to go, unfortunately."

"Ah, that's a shame," Grandpa replied easily, pushing back his chair without getting up. "I hope everything's okay?"

I thought of the army of ghosts that was apparently streaming across the city at that very moment. I wondered if the mortals could see them, and if Olympus itself was about to be attacked.

"Yeah," I nodded steadily. "Everything's fine."

"Alright," he said, rubbing his chin with a regretful air. "Mind yourself."

"I will."

I turned to leave the kitchen, and was about to close the door behind me, when my grandfather spoke again.

"Oh, and Cyrus," he said. I looked back at him. His eyes were twinkling again, but now there was a hint of mischief in them. Grandpa smiled, and said, "Tell Chiron I said hello."


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

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_The cafe windows wrapped all the way around the observation floor, which gave us a beautiful panoramic view of the skeletal army that had come to kill us._

—Rick Riordan, 'Percy Jackson and the Titan's Curse'

* * *

I took the ferry from Staten Island to Manhattan, and got the subway to Herald Square. When I came onto ground level, I glanced up the street.

The army of ghosts was less than four blocks away, coming down Sixth Avenue.

I'd seen spirits before - there'd been one or two or a few billion down in the Underworld - but this was still a pretty disturbing sight. It was one thing to see ghosts in, you know, the Land of the _Dead_, but seeing them here in the middle of the city, _my_ city, was a lot stranger. The background of Christmas decorations and happy shoppers made it seem as though Halloween had come late.

They walked in tight squares, like an army. Each square was made up of around sixty-four spirits - eight rows of eight - and the entire army was made up of ten of these squadrons. The whole convoy proceeded down the road, walking through cars and people. The ghosts paid no attention to anything around them, and marched with an air of forbidding implacability. It reminded me of a video I'd seen of Nazi military parades.

I walked up the street slowly, not taking my eyes off the spectral horde. I paused at the junction between West 34th Street and 6th Avenue. The ghosts were moving very, very slowly, so I figured it'd take some time till they reached the Empire State Building. I took the time to examine them fully.

Nico had once told me that many ghosts could look just like living people, but these guys were all classic grey, incorporeal spirits. They were wispy and hard to see clearly. Often, they blended in with the greying snow on the ground, so that they looked like nothing more than a momentary image forming in freezing vapour. As clouds passed over the sun, it became easier to see them, but when the light brightened, they seemed to fade.

It was even more difficult to make out individual ghosts. The indistinctness of their faces made their heads look like nothing more than overlarge plumes of exhaust. As I concentrated, though, the spirits near the front came into sharper focus. Many of them wore the trappings of war, both modern and ancient. Others looked much the same as the living people around them.

None of said living people seemed to notice the invasion of grey spectres. Once or twice a child stopped and stared curiously in the general direction of the ghosts, but a parent would hurriedly usher them on, usually irritated at the child's supposed irrationality. On one occasion, a taxi driver stuck his head out his cab window and looked around in bewildered annoyance when the army passed through his vehicle, but he didn't seem to actually _see_ anything.

There was nothing scary or intimidating about the ghosts, really. They just looked like lost memories.

I was tempted to use my sight to examine these silent, emotionless souls more thoroughly, but I knew I had to get to the Empire State Building before them. With a slight sense of disappointment, I turned away, heading down West 34th.

(It struck me, as I hurried on, that I was starting to actually _enjoy_ using my sight. Before, I avoided it like the plague, but now I was beginning to relish the insights it gave me. I valued the opportunity it provided to learn things - and maybe deep down, I liked the importance it granted me.)

I glanced around at the bustling, Christmas-obsessed mortals, and wondered just how bad everything was about to go. I didn't know what those ghosts were doing here, but it sure didn't seem likely that they were carol singers.

I turned right onto Fifth Avenue, and frowned. It was quiet here - _too_ quiet. New York streets aren't exactly places that you expect to be empty, with not a single living soul to be seen. I looked behind me - all the other streets I could see were as busy as usual, but not a soul was even glancing in the direction of Fifth. I yelled, "Hey!" but no-one looked my way. I started jumping up and down, shouting obscenities at passers-by, but no-one so much as twitched towards Fifth Avenue.

I swallowed nervously, dug my hand into the inside pocket of my coat towards my knife, and strode up the street. Things were getting more and more bizarre.

(Then again, once a legion of ghosts is strolling across a city, the bizarre benchmark for the day has been set pretty high.)

My sense of unease grew as I saw that a lone figure was standing outside the doors of the Empire State Building - a figure holding a bright bronze sword. I tensed automatically, getting ready to draw my dagger out from the inside pocket.

As I drew nearer, though, the figure turned towards me, and I recognised the emerald green aura of Olivia Hartnell, daughter of Hecate.

"Cyrus!" she called to me, waving as I came towards her.

"Hi," I said, as I finally reached her. We exchanged a mitten-clad handshake. It was the first time I'd seen Olivia since the summer. She looked a little older already, and her aura had grown in intensity, becoming brighter and more imposing.

"Chiron sent you, right?" the daughter of Hecate asked me, her green eyes examining me intently.

"Yeah," I nodded. I glanced over my shoulder at the top of the street - there was still not a soul turning onto Fifth, and no sign of the ghosts. I turned back to Olivia, who was gazing down the road pensively.

"I guess you're wondering why it's so quiet around here," she said, without looking at me.

"Yeah…"

"That was me," Olivia explained, finally meeting my gaze. "We decided it was better to keep the mortals out of the area, in case this develops into a big battle, but because this is kind of the middle of New York, it's impossible to keep them more than a street away. So I put up some illusions and Mist roadblocks. It'll be enough to keep everyone away for a while, but it'll start to break down after a couple of hours."

I glanced down at the end of the street, puzzled. "I didn't see any roadblocks…"

"Well, _you_ wouldn't, naturally," she said, checking her watch. "The others should be here soon."

I looked at the daughter of Hecate for a brief moment. She was a couple of years older than me, but she was only an inch or two taller. I'd gotten to know her a little after working with her on a capture-the-flag game against the Hunters. Olivia had a penchant for being a little cryptic, a little standoffish, but then I'm not exactly Mr. Friendly either. Perhaps that's why we got on.

I looked around at the shops and restaurants. What I hadn't noticed before - busy as I'd been with being illogically paranoid - was that every one of them was shut and empty, again with not a soul to be seen.

"Um," I said articulately. "How did you manage to clear the street? I doubt you just told everyone there's a spectral invasion on the way and politely asked them to leave."

I looked back at Olivia, who smiled a little. She stuck her sword in the ground, point-first, and clapped her hands. A brief ripple shook through her aura, and a band of green power expanded out from her hands in a thin circle, before fading out of sight.

I frowned. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming sense that I had to do something else, something important. I had to get back to my grandfather's, that was it, he was expecting me…

I was already starting to turn to go, when Olivia rubbed her hands together, as though she was dusting them off. As suddenly and as quietly as it had come, the illusion melted away.

"Wow," I said, turning back to her and rubbing my head. "That's pretty powerful."

"I thought so," Olivia nodded. "We did it on the whole street. There's a lot of people wandering around New York right now wondering where they need to go, I'm afraid."

"But how did you manage to do that on such a big scale?" I said, frowning. "That can't be easy."

"Jane brought the whole Hecate cabin here," she explained, resting one hand on her sword's pommel. "It took ten of us, but working together we had enough strength to spread the spell across the whole street. We're near Christmas, and that made things easier. Everyone always has somewhere to be, this time of year."

I whistled slowly. "That's pretty cool." I glanced around again. It was really strange seeing a New York street so quiet. With the snow glistening underfoot, it was even a little peaceful.

"Where's your cabin now?" I asked.

"Um," Olivia said, looking away, clearly trying not to laugh. "Most of them collapsed, I'm afraid. They're not really used to heavy-duty magic like that. We had to send them back to camp."

That didn't really impress me. "Oh, great," I said flatly, withdrawing my dagger from my pocket and inspecting it. "That's fine. I'm absolutely sure that we won't need more enchantments to be cast or anything."

Olivia opened her mouth to reply, when a ripple of movement behind her caught my eye. I reacted instinctively, shifting my grip on my dagger. She turned, snatching up her sword and stepping towards the patch of shadows a few feet away from us, which was now writhing and twisting.

Then, the darkness resolved itself into the forms of Jane Welles and Kevin Andrews.

"Oh, hi, Cyrus," Jane said, with equanimity, as though we were just meeting at the mall. She stepped towards us, shaking her head a little, as though tossing off tiredness or disorientation. Kevin, however, crouched down on his hunkers, clutching his head tenderly. He really wasn't a fan of shadow-travel.

"Hi, Jane." I replied, smiling. Jane gave Olivia a professional nod, before giving me a quick hug.

"How are you doing, then, Seer?" she said with a smile, as she stepped back. "Looking forwards to fighting ghosts?"

I nodded, and looked at her for a moment. It was good to see her again, because we hadn't talked much since the end of the summer. As I met her dark eyes, though, something seemed a little different, a little off. You always know when your friend is different. I frowned automatically, examining her. There was something about the daughter of Nyx that had changed - not in a "your-head's-fallen-off" way, but something subtle that I couldn't quite place.

"What's wrong?" Jane asked, frowning in reply to my puzzled look.

"Cyrus is just wondering why the hell you got assigned to a field mission," Kevin said drily, as he finally straightened up. He nodded to me. "Hey, man."

"Hi, Kevin," I grinned. The son of Ares didn't show it often, but he had a wit that was sharper than his sword.

Jane just rolled her eyes, and stepped onto the road to look down at the end of the street. The ghosts sure were taking their time - there was still no sign of them. Maybe they'd got stuck at the zebra crossing. I tried not to laugh at the mental image of the entire legion of spectres patiently waiting for a group of schoolchildren to make their way across the road.

(Hey, just because you're an invisible invading force doesn't mean you shouldn't follow traffic laws.)

Kevin smiled at Olivia - who was now fiddling with a small round stone that hung from her neck by a thin bronze chain - and exchanged manly handclasps with me.

"Is anyone else coming?" I asked him quietly. He was wearing his usual light armour, with his long sword hanging from his belt.

"Unfortunately, no," he answered, scratching his behatted head with an irritated air. "Jane is saving her energy, in case this turns into a confrontation, so we couldn't shadow-travel any more out. Most of the Hecate cabin is out for the count, so we can't use their quanta transmission thingy."

"Their what?" I said blankly.

"I'll tell you later," Kevin said, waving away the question. "Or rather, Olivia will tell you later. Anyway, there's no other way to get more people here in time, unless we start sending people on pegasi, but Chiron doesn't think that's necessary."

"He doesn't?" I said incredulously. "What part of 'army of ghosts marching on Olympus' does not suggest the need for reinforcements?"

"The ghosts are weak," Jane broke in. I turned to look at her - she'd walked up to the top of the street and back again, and was now standing in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips. "Chiron sent me to check them out as soon as we heard the report about them appearing. They have very little power. It won't take much to knock them back into the Underworld."

"Where did they come from?" I asked, glancing between her and Kevin.

"One of my brothers was messing around with a scrying bowl," Olivia answered. She stepped into the road, standing between Jane and me. "He was searching for any magical activity in the New York City area, and the bowl showed him Central Park. Somehow, the spirits had gotten out via the Underworld entrance that's there—"

I nodded. Nico had told me about Orpheus' Gate, the back door to the Land of the Dead, which he and Percy had once used for a mission during the Titan War.

"—and they massed at the gates of the park, before moving out across Manhattan," Olivia finished. "We don't know how they got out, but—"

"Oh, come on, Olivia," Jane said scornfully. "We all know how they got out. Tartarus did it."

Perhaps it was only my morbid imagination, but the temperature of the air around us seemed to burrow a few degrees further down the subzero rabbit hole.

"Jane…" Olivia said warily, glancing up the street quickly.

"What?" she said shortly, before shaking her head. "Oh yeah, I know, we're not supposed to say his name. But what does it matter now, really? We all know he's rising, saying his name can't really make any—"

"Look," Kevin said suddenly. His voice, though quiet, carried that weight of authority that all good commanders have, and we turned, as one, to look at him. His hand was raised, with one finger pointing to the top of the street.

The army of escapee spirits had, in the last few seconds, reached the top of Fifth Avenue. The leading squadron in the procession was just starting to drift down the road. They moved with the same slow, unhurried drift, every spirit seemingly unaware of the world around them.

Kevin moved out into the centre of the road, not taking his eyes off the spirits. He stood his hands loose at his sides, watching them for a few moments. If they'd been moving at a normal walking pace, they would have reached us in a couple of minutes, but their glacially slow tread gave us plenty of time to prepare.

Kevin turned back around to face us. We looked at him rather blankly. My mental abilities don't work so great in the field, Jane was too irritated to come up with any strategic ideas, and Olivia had gone back to thumbing her stone, so the son of Ares naturally took charge.

"Spread out, everyone," he instructed, making quick, direct gestures. "Each of the groups is eight rows by eight columns, and there's four of us, so each of you take two rows at a time. Olivia, Jane, use your powers as efficiently as possible. I don't need you collapsing halfway through this. Cyrus, use your sight to look out for any illusions, and don't waste time in one-on-one fights - vaporise as many ghosts as fast as you can. If they're as weak as they seem, it shouldn't take much."

"What about you?" I asked.

Kevin drew his sword, the razor-shape blade singing loudly as it emerged from its sheath. "I'll take point."

We followed his orders, taking up our positions in the road. I took the left flank, with Jane on my right. On her right stood Kevin, a few steps in front of the rest of us, ready to put a big dent in the approaching spectral ranks. Olivia took up the far right flank, her sword stuck into the ground between her feet again, as she tapped her stone with a frustrated air.

"I got it!" she said suddenly, holding it up.

A faint humming sound filled the air, as three bright green symbols lit up on the surface of the stone, casting a dull emerald glow on Olivia's hands.

"What's that?" Kevin asked, glancing over his shoulder at her for a second.

"It's an energy stone," she replied, turning it over and over in her hands with a satisfied air. At some point, she'd taken it off the chain. "It has a ton of stored power in it. My mother gave me a few of them. I can use it to nuke the ghosts without drawing on my own reserves."

"Great," Jane said, eyeing her with a slight air of envy. "Can I have one?"

Olivia laughed. "You can, but it would be useless to you. Only someone who can wield magic could use this."

Jane opened her mouth to say something else, but Kevin said, once more with authority, "Shhh."

We all remembered what we were meant to be doing, and looked around.

The ghosts were nearly upon us.

I glared at them, for the first time feeling genuinely unnerved. The spirits still paid no attention to us or anything else, not even glancing in our direction. They just drifted forwards, their eyes downcast. I wasn't sure if they were just really stupid or really sure that they were going to go right through us. One way or another, their ghostly apathy was seriously spooky. It would have been _less_ creepy if they'd been rushing towards us screaming.

The air suddenly seemed a whole lot colder, even with the protection of my duffel coat.

Jane drew her sword. I glanced at it out of the corner of my eye, and frowned.

"Since when do you have a Stygian sword?" I whispered.

"Since my last trip to the Underworld," she whispered back, her eyes not moving from the oncoming army. "Long story."

_Trip to the Underworld?_

"Cyrus," Kevin said steadily, holding his sword in front of him with two hands. "Use your sight."

The leading ghosts were only a few feet away now. I took a deep breath, readying myself. I knew that ghosts were nothing more than fragments - sometimes mere memories - of souls, that my sight wouldn't show me anything that could scare me, but I still felt the need to prepare myself. I brought myself fully into the moment, cleared away any racing thoughts, centring my mental gravity so that I would be less easily shocked.

Only then did I reach for my pure sight.

I concentrated on the spirits, and my sight slowly ebbed into focus. The auras of my friends around me grew brighter and more imposing, while the dim strands of energy channels in the air around us shimmered into the visible realm. I ignored all that.

The ghosts' appearance began to sharpen, becoming clearer,. They looked more solid, now, than they had when seen with my regular sight. Their faces took on more defined shapes, but I tried not to look any of them in the eye.

Then, I noticed something: in every single spirit, there was a black, gossamer-thin thread snaking down from where their heart would be, through their chest, torso and down their leg, ultimately disappearing into the ground. I frowned, concentrating more intently on that odd little strand of darkness. As I did so, I felt a familiar shiver of dark power brush past my mind.

"Kevin," I said quietly, "cut one of them in half, through the chest."

Kevin moved without a word, taking one step forward and slicing his sword through the upper body of the ghost closest to him. The thread of darkness shattered on contacting his blade, and the spirit - a man clad in heavy, Greek ceremonial armour - exploded in a cloud of grey, ghostly air. In a moment, the ghost had dissolved into nothing.

The other ghosts actually paused at this, their heads tilting upwards a little. They were still for a moment, seeming to survey us, or at least acknowledge our presence.

"What was that?" Olivia asked, her eyes flicking between me and the ghosts.

"There's a link," I said quickly, trying to get the explanation out before the ghosts started to move again. "Each ghost is connected to Tar— to the depths of the pit. They're connected to him by a little strand of shadow, and that's sustaining them, keeping them in one piece. If we severe that, we take away their energy supply, and they just break up."

"Great," Kevin said, raising his sword again, and suddenly sounding quite cheerful. "What are we waiting for?"

The ghosts moved again, a little quicker than before, and this time, we met them halfway.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_The Doctor: We're being attacked by statues in a crashed ship. There isn't a _manual_ for this._

–Doctor Who, 'Flesh and Stone'

* * *

Kevin took the lead, shearing through spirit after spirit, creating so many swirling clouds of ghost particles that he seemed to be shrouded in some sort of tiny hurricane. Jane moved more slowly, mainly using her sword but supporting her attack with waves of shadow, which cut through couples of ghosts at a time. Olivia used only her sword, conserving her powers, not that she needed them - her bronze blade mowed through spectres with lethal efficiency. I was the slowest of us all, stabbing at each ghost's chest individually, but I had the advantage of seeing exactly where the wire of darkness was.

The spirits, for their part, didn't seem to know what was going on - nor, indeed, did they seem to be able to make any physical impact on us. Row after row of them just floated into our blades without resistance, like obliging clumps of mist. It was only as we neared the end of the first squadron that the spirits started to cotton on. One of them moved to grab my wrist, and a sudden icy sensation shot up my arm. I slashed wildly, cutting through the ghost's arm and then its chest. The iciness was gone by the time the spirit had dissipated, but my wrist still tingled a little.

And then, we reached the end of the first group. The air was filled with grey mist, still slowly fading away, and the next cohort of ghosts paused, a couple of feet away, regarding us now with open wariness.

"Well," Jane said, brushing off her jacket with her free hand, "this seems pretty easy. Tart— the son of Chaos must have sent his lightweight mooks."

"Yeah," I nodded, "but don't speak too—"

She spoke too soon.

I froze.

Something was happening to the ghosts.

That wire of darkness, so thin before, was now starting to thicken. It was darkening and growing, expanding into the body of each spirit. As it did so, it sent out pulses of shadow, ripples of power that flowed through each ghost and turned its grey form a little darker.

"Cyrus…" I heard Jane say nervously. I shook my head, casting off my sight with a sense of uneasy urgency, as though that would stop what I was seeing.

"The ghosts," I said, barely aware of how shaky my voice sounded. "They're changing, something's happening, Tarta— the shadows are strengthening them."

A frightened silence fell over the four of us as we stared at the spectres. They really did look like spectres now - even without pure sight, I could see them darkening, growing solider, coming more into the physical realm. That pale, ghostly grey quickly turned dark silver, then almost black. The sheer physical presence of the army intensified greatly.

They were more than just escapee souls now. They were soldiers of darkness.

I glanced at my friends. Olivia had gone pale, her sword half-lowered and her posture limp. Jane's face was tense, hiding her fear with anger. The tip of Kevin's sword had dropped down a few inches, his shoulders slumped just a little, but enough to show his unease.

The son of Ares looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes wide with alarm.

"What's happening?" he murmured.

"It's what Cyrus said," Jane answered for me, her voice tight. "Tartarus is giving these stupid bits of mist more power. They're going to be a hell of a lot harder to kill."

Kevin looked back at said stupid bits of mist. Their transformation was complete now. Despite their increase in power, the ghosts' features were even less defined than before - they looked like nothing more than a mass of statues poorly hewn from black marble. I looked over their heads - the rest of the army was similarly transformed, all nine remaining units of it. Calculations ran in my head - each unit had sixty-four spirits, nine times sixty-four was five hundred and seventy-six.

Oh dear.

"But they can't kill us, right?" Olivia said distantly. "They can't be _that_ strong."

"I don't know," Jane said, raising both hands - her sword in one, a fistful of shadow in the other. "But we're about to find out."

Without a sound, the horde of spectres abruptly swarmed towards us.

The power boost from the pit had made them a hell of a lot faster. They moved about five times quicker than before, almost faster than us. They nearly knocked us back and out of our formation, but Kevin kept us in line.

"Keep your positions!" he shouted, dodging a zombie-esque grab from a particularly burly ghost. "We can't let them get past us to Olympus. We have to stand our ground!"

Easier said than done. The spirits were much more aggressive now, reaching for us with their way stronger hands. The very first one I faced wrapped icy fingers around my forearm, and started to squeeze, as though planning to snap my arm in two. Training kicked in, and I jerked my arm down, up, and to the right, forcing the grip apart, before lunging in with my dagger. The spectres may have become a lot more offensive, but they had little to defend themselves with. This one fractured into a thousand pieces of darkness, before winking out entirely.

Then another one reared up and tried to enfold me in its ghostly embrace/chokehold.

I felt like I was trapped in some sort of macabre training exercise. The ghosts just kept coming and coming, and we fought and fought, desperately trying to keep them at bay. Kevin was like a hurricane, slicing, hacking and slashing any ghost that came within a foot of him. Jane started using her powers more heavily. Every now and then, she stomped her foot, making a wave of shadows explode out from her aura and slam into the spectres, either destroying them or toppling them over. Olivia was using her magic stone, taking out lines of spirits at once with arcing beams of sharply bright green light.

The spirits weren't as hard to kill as I'd feared, but every wave seemed to be a little tougher, a little more aggressive. They poured towards us unceasingly, the only pause occurring when we reached the end of a squadron. Little harm was done to us, but after the fifth or sixth cohort was dispatched, fatigue really started to kick in for all of us. The auras of my friends began to wane as their energy drained away. Tiredness started to slow me down, making my attacks less accurate and my defence a lot shakier. Several spirits nearly downed me, and only Jane's waves of darkness kept them back.

I began to pray for some kind of intervention, some kind of cavalry over the hill. Maybe people from camp would arrive, or maybe a god would just casually walk out of the Empire State Building. No rescue was forthcoming, however, but somehow we all found the strength to keep going, until finally, after what felt like a century of slashing through ghosts, the attack just stopped.

The air was foggy with the mist of dissipating spectres, and the very last unit of spirits was standing still, several yards away. All their fellow soldiers were gone, torn to shreds by our little quartet of ghostbusters, and now only sixty-four of them remained. They stood stiller than statues, their formless faces considering us without any sign of sentience.

"We're almost there," Kevin said, looking around at us with an exhausted smile. "Just one more gang of goons to deal with. Easy, right?"

"Sure," I nodded shakily. "I can't wait."

"Absolutely," Jane replied, crouching down on her hunkers in an attempt to rest.

There was a pause, and then Olivia said, in an uncertain tone, "I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

We all glanced at her, then followed her gaze.

Most of that ghost-mist had evaporated, presumably lost into the atmosphere, banishing the spectres forever. Those spectres were gone completely.

But a lot of those particles hadn't gone anywhere.

The remaining mist was coiling in the air, gathering itself into a single, pulsating mass. It twisted, over and over, as all the ghost particles that had not yet dissipated clumped together into one giant cloud.

"Oh dear," Jane said slowly, hollowly.

We watched, transfixed, as the cloud slowly floated down towards the last spectres. With a sort of morbid finality, the mist shrouded around the spirits, obscuring them from sight for a long moment. Then, the swirling cloud simply soaked into the remaining ghostly soldiers.

The spectres solidified even more as they absorbed the particles of their brethren. All the remains of the ghosts we'd vaporised were now working to strengthen the last cohort of the army, making them obviously stronger than us. By the time the last whispers of mist were integrated, the spectres looked as solid as living humans.

"This is awesome," I said, my mouth dry."Maybe we could just recruit these guys?"

"Hold steady," Kevin said, working hard to keep his voice calm. "Don't back off. Be ready for the—"

The newly-empowered spectres shot towards us, moving like bullets. The leading ghosts slammed into Kevin, who whirled rapidly, taking down a good ten of them with broad slashes of his sword, but they weren't trying to fight him. Tactics had changed - the spectres were no longer trying to get through us, they were bulldozing their way _past_ us.

I stabbed and hacked, running on adrenaline, but I only managed to hit a couple, because they were so fast. I was shoved to one side by a particularly burly spectre, and the rest surged past me, heading straight for the doors of the Empire State Building. Jane caught a few of them with her sword, but they were too strong, too quick. She was pushed, then tripped, and she sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Olivia turning and sprinting towards the doors. She raced the spectres, casting out beams of power from her stone to slow them down. She barely made it there first, sliding across the snowy pavement, a few metres in the lead. The daughter of Hecate slammed her glowing hand onto the doors and yelled, "_Withstand_."

A blue sheen of power spread out from her hand, shrouding the doors fully, and Olivia threw herself to one side. Spectres crashed right into the doors, and there was an explosion of light so bright, we all looked away or covered our eyes. Mist, smoke and yellowish dust billowed into the air for a moment, blocking most of the spectres from view. After a few seconds, the air cleared, and we saw that the number of monster-ghosts had been at least halved.

Whatever spell Olivia had cast worked extremely well - a few more of the especially dumb spirits dashed at the doors, but as soon as they touched that glowing blue sheen, they exploded in a flash of light and fog. Finally, the remaining spectres stopped, congregating in a tight unit around the doors. Several of them turned to look at Olivia, who was slumped against the wall, her head down, and began moving toward her.

A chill went through me.

"Hey!" I yelled, finally moving again, running towards the rear of the group. Kevin and Jane were behind me, both crying out insults in the vague hope of distracting the spirits approaching Olivia, but they ignored us. Moving with implacable speed, they seized Olivia and flung her at the doors.

As soon as the daughter of Hecate's aura touched the doors, the protective blue sheen rippled, and then shattered, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Her body ploughed into the doors, throwing them open. Olivia fell to the floor inside the lobby, unconscious now, and her magic stone spun off into the building.

"_No_!" Jane cried out angrily. The spectres were already starting to stream inside, but they weren't quite beyond her reach. Her aura pulsing more intensely with rage than I'd ever seen before, Jane plunged her sword into the ground.

A wave of shadows, surely more powerful than any she'd ever summoned before, swept across the ground and wrapped around ten of the rearmost spectres, encasing them in merciless darkness. Jane twisted her sword out of the ground, and the shadows tore all ten ghosts to pieces.

The daughter of Nyx staggered, her aura waning down rapidly from the overuse of power. Even so, there was ten spectres left, and they were still moving, paying no attention to their fallen comrades. Kevin grabbed Jane's arm to stop her from collapsing completely.

"One last effort," he said, practically holding her up. "Can you get us in front of them, to the elevators?"

Jane stared up at him, her face pale and her eyes blank, and I was sure she was going to faint.

Then, without warning, shadows consumed us.

Suddenly, we were standing in front of the elevator doors in the lobby of the Empire State Building. The spectres were charging in our direction, as implacable as ever. Jane collapsed completely, slumping against one of the doors. Kevin and I exchanged a quick glance, and reached a silent agreement.

We started running towards the last of the army of ghosts, but we didn't realise just how exhausted we really were.

It only took one spectre to down Kevin. The first one he reached hit him hard in the face, and he stumbled backwards, slicing wildly with his sword. He managed to shear through the spirit's torso, but another ghost lunged forward and simply shoved him. Kevin flailed, and fell to the floor in an ungainly heap.

He didn't get back up.

I swallowed. Okay. Nine evil demon spectres against little old exhausted me. I could do this.

Before I could even think of something sarcastic to shout at them, they were on me.

I managed to duck under the guard of one and slice it up, but then another spectre sucker-punched me from behind. A terrible, deathly sensation of iciness cut into the centre of my skull, and I bent over double, shuddering. From the front, a spirit came at me and kicked me in the chest. I was thrown to the floor, landing heavily on my back. More terrible, numbing iciness flared up in my chest, as my whole body began to feel like it was both freezing and disintegrating at the same time.

I lay there, stunned. My sword had careered out of my hand at some point, and a spectre loomed over me, but I was too exhausted to fight. It reached down slowly, and wrapped freezing fingers around my neck.

Somehow, the shock of imminent strangulation gave me a last wheeze of strength. I kicked out desperately, trying to force the ghost away, but I was too weak. Gagging, I patted the ground around me, searching for my sword or Kevin's sword or something. _Anything_.

My fingers fell on a smooth, round stone.

Olivia's magic stone.

Acting without even thinking, I grabbed the stone and brandished wildly it in the direction of the spirits, summoning up every iota of will I had left. I barely even knew what I was doing, but somehow I dredged up all the energy in my being and with it, I _willed_ the stone to unleash its power. I didn't just try - I _believed_ that it would work for me.

Olivia's magic rock lit up, its runes glistening into glorious life. I kept concentrating, kept pushing, and somehow, by a miracle or something else, a beam of green light arced out of the stone and vaporised the spectre trying to strangle me.

The rest of them lurched backwards in a moment of surprise, and I managed to sit up, waving the stone wildly all the time. Three more were vaporised in the blink of an eye, then another. Only three remained, and the runes on the stone began to fade as my concentration ebbed away, but I plunged my free hand into a pocket and withdrew my piece of labradorite. I squeezed it tightly, and its stored sense of calm and stability surged into me. _That_ piece of stone gave me the last bit of energy I needed, and the runes on Olivia's rock lit up again. Green power vaporised two more spectres.

Finally, there was only one left, standing a few feet away. It lunged at me, and I cast out a final pulse of power. It cut through the ghost's legs, sending it crashing to the floor next to me. My strength gave out, and the stone dropped from my hand, the runes already fading.

My vision began to darken, but I forced myself to stay conscious for a moment more. I looked at the last spectre, making sure it was down. I hadn't hit its centre, where its power core was, so the thing was taking longer to evaporate. Its upper body was still whole, and it had raised its head to stare at me.

As I watched, a face began to form on the spectre's head. It was a terrible, old, gnarled face, neither man nor woman, more like a twisted, primal religious carving than anything that could be construed as human. It opened its mouth, and spoke in a voice I often hear in my nightmares.

"All this is nothing but a warning," hissed Tartarus, speaking through the spectre even as it faded into nothing. "These ghosts were merely the message. This will happen once more, with far worse consequences, if you do not meet my demand."

"What— what demand?" I managed to choke out.

The crooked face of Tartarus himself glared at me even as it evaporated.

"Surrender the Ritual of the Pit to me, by the winter solstice," it hissed, its voice darker than the midnight of death. "Surrender it, or watch this city suffer the consequences."

The spectre dissipated into tiny fragments of mist and memory, and, at long last, unconsciousness claimed me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_"__Being a detective isn't all about torture and murder and monsters. Sometimes it gets truly unpleasant."_

–Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant'

* * *

I woke up in the Camp Half-Blood infirmary.

Um, wait.

More precisely, I woke up, sat bolt-upright in bed, looked around wildly like an alarmed rabbit, saw enough to realise I was in the infirmary, and then collapsed back onto the bed.

For a few vague moments of confusion, I couldn't figure out why I was even in the infirmary or how I'd got there, but as I woke up a little more, everything fell back into my mind with an emphatic thump. The spectres, the battle, the effort it had taken to stop them.

The message from Tartarus.

The one-room hospital was too dark to see more than vague outlines, but I could hear the sounds of breathing. The others, I guessed, as I lay there with my eyes closed. I didn't look around again, but just rested and thought for a while. For a number of minutes, I enjoyed the fact that nothing was trying to kill me.

I really wasn't a fan of armed combat.

After a while, I started to work things out.

It didn't feel like I'd been asleep all that long, so it was probably only a few hours since the battle with the spectres. Pretty much every joint in my body felt stiff, and my head was throbbing dully. Presumably, help from camp had arrived at some point after I'd managed to poof the last spectre. It was real nice of the cavalry to turn up once everything was over.

As I thought of the end of the fight, the memory of that voice - the voice of the pit - started to creep into the forefront of my mind, but I pushed it away. I was too tired to think about that now. Anyway, it didn't really seem like a good idea to chew that particular ominous moment over at night, in the dark. There are some things that should only be considered in the light of day.

I didn't think anything else for a few minutes, and I probably would have fallen back to sleep in another minute or two. Sounds of movement on my right roused me, though, and I turned over slowly.

I waited a moment or two before opening my eyes, just in case something was about to kill me. I wasn't really in the mood to catch someone in the act of murdering me.

When nothing happened, I cracked my eyes open warily, and saw the dim shape of Jane Welles lying on a bed next to me.

I blinked,

Despite the fact that there was barely enough light in the room to make out the ceiling or to see the end of the bed distinctly, Jane appeared to be reading a book.

Feeling unequal to the task of puzzling over this anomaly, I ignored it. I took another pause (I'm awfully slow when I wake up), before whispering, "Hey, Jane."

Jane looked up immediately, her dark eyes flicking from the pages of her book to my bed.

"Hey," she whispered back. "You're not dead. That's cool."

"Really?" I murmured slowly. "I'm sorry. You must be so disappointed."

Jane closed her book and placed it on her bedside table. "It's okay," she said, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. "You're not too dull or anything, so you can stick around."

"Are you trying to tell me," I said flatly, following her lead and sitting up in my bed. "that my life hangs in the balance of whether or not you find me too boring?"

"Well, yeah," Jane nodded, glancing with alarm at the other beds in the room as I rearranged my pillows a little too noisily. "All the monsters consult me when they're picking who they're going to kill next."

"Wow," I muttered, finally settling down. "You should make some business cards. Jane Welles: Destroyer of Boredom."

We sat in silence for a few moments. I noticed for the first time that we were close to the door of the infirmary, which was ajar. Slightly yellowish light from an overhead bulb spilled in through the gap, providing the room with its only illumination. Looking around at the other beds, I could make out only two other occupants, who were both asleep - or, at least, they were swathed in sheets and lying still.

"That's Kevin and Olivia," Jane confirmed my unspoken thoughts. "I woke up a little while after we arrived back. A couple of Apollo kids were handing around the ambrosia like it was Betty Crocker brownies. They nearly stuffed some down your throat, too, but I managed to stop them."

A chill of alarm rippled through me, followed by a wave of relief. "Thanks."

While I was an unusual mortal by most people's standards, I still didn't share most of the things that made a half-blood a demigod. Even a little nectar or ambrosia would kill me real dead.

"It's fine," Jane said, shrugging. "So then we were all bundled into bed, Kevin woke up briefly, but he went straight back to sleep when they gave him some nectar. I think that stuff works like a sedative on some people. They left us in here, told us not to talk—"

"Why would they tell us not to talk if three of us were unconscious?" I interjected, frowning.

"I don't know," Jane said, rolling her eyes. "Some of those Apollo kids are like 19th-century hospital matrons. Anyway, I fell asleep, and woke up about a half an hour ago."

"Ah," I nodded. "What time is it, then?"

Jane looked at a clock (which I hadn't noticed before) on the bedside table, and said, "Oh, it's nearly 5 a.m."

I peered intently at the clock, which was a good old-fashioned mechanical one, with none of those new-fangled digital displays or glowing green numbers. I couldn't make out the hands on it, never mind the numbers.

"Um," I said wisely, looking over at Jane with confusion. "How can you… read that clock?"

"Hey, don't ask me _that_," she said, looking back at me with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "I'm a daughter of Nyx, do you really think I can't see in the _dark_?"

"Oh yeah," I said slowly, rubbing my eyes.

Silence fell once more, though I didn't mind. It was nice, restful silence.

As I woke up more thoroughly, my thoughts started to move, inexorably, back to the battle. I realised that it had been the first real battle I'd ever been in. Admittedly, it hadn't exactly been a full-fledged clash between two armies or anything, but it had still been plenty intense for my liking. It was certainly one of the most stressful experiences I'd had, though it somehow hadn't been particularly traumatic. Maybe my journey to the depths of the Underworld had made me more or less immune to the shock of such pedestrian things as an attack of killer mutant ghosts.

"So, what happened after I was out?" Jane asked, as though she was reading my mind.

"Well…" I said slowly. For the first time, I thought about how I'd managed to use Olivia's magic rock. I had no clue how it had happened. I'd acted on pure instinct, and somehow I'd released the power in the stone. But I was just a mortal. That would have been impossible.

It's funny how often impossible things just sort of happen if no-one watches too hard.

I explained to Jane how Kevin had been taken down, and how I'd been the only one left. Her eyebrows scrunched together with both confusion and interest - she knew better than anyone that, when it came to confronting any number of enemies (even one) on my own, I wasn't exactly what you'd call Herculean. She was clearly struggling to imagine how I'd taken down all the killer spectres. I was having difficulty with the idea, too, to be honest.

I wasn't sure whether or not to be annoyed by how supremely unconcerned Jane looked as I recounted being strangled by a spectre.

"You could at least _try_ to look worried," I told her, trying to sound stern.

"What, why?" she said smilingly. "You're sitting right next to me, obviously you had it under control."

"Oh, yeah, totally under control," I said darkly. I detailed my sudden, instinctive usage of the magic stone, making abundantly clear how it had been a total fluke.

Jane sat in silence until I'd finished, and stayed quiet for a moment afterwards. I watched her, waiting for some wise observation. Finally, she looked at me, and said sanguinely, "You know, this means it was actually a _good_ thing that Olivia got hurled through those doors."

I just stared at her.

"Hey, if that hadn't happened, her stone wouldn't have been so handily close to you!" she said, raising her hands. "_Then_ where would we be?"

I shook my head. I'd heard of combat pragmatism, but this was ridiculous.

"But what do you think of this?" I asked her, shifting about a little in my bed. "How could I have called up that magic? It doesn't make any sense. I've never shown any ability like that before."

Jane took a moment to consider that. "I don't know," she stared intently into empty space. "Maybe you have some latent godly blood in the family tree, or something. Maybe a god reached out to help you, though _that_ seems very unlikely."

Another thought struck me, and I looked at Jane carefully. She, too, had displayed new abilities and powers during that battle. She'd seemed more powerful than ever before. Before that battle, any manipulation of the shadows had worn out her pretty much instantly, but Jane had lasted quite a long time during the conflict. It didn't take a great leap of imagination to guess that this power boost was linked to her new sword, her mysterious trip to the Underworld, and her overall change of demeanour.

I was sorely tempted to ask the daughter of Nyx then and there what was going on. I knew, though, that it would only put her on the defensive, and I'd done enough fighting for the moment.

"So that was it?" Jane said, emerging from her reverie and jolting me from mine. "You killed all the spectres?"

"Yeah," I nodded. I explained how I'd vaporised the rest of the ghosts, going into a lot more detail than was necessary - not because I particularly enjoyed this part of the story, but because I really didn't want to consider what had come next.

Finally, though, I had no choice.

"So there was only one spectre left," I told Jane, who was listening eagerly. "He nearly got me, but I managed to blast his legs off. And then…"

I paused, thinking of the moment when Tartarus had spoken through the spirit. I'd been so exhausted at the time that I'd barely connected with the terrible, cold darkness that had started to creep into me when he'd emerged. I'd last felt that ominous power when we'd been down at the Edge of the West, but somehow it seemed far worse up here, in the land of the living. Down in the Underworld, the shadowy presence of Tartarus did not seem overly out of place, but there in the lobby of the Empire State Building, it had felt like a tearing of nature.

"And then?" Jane prompted me.

I took a deep breath.

"And then, Tartar— the son of Chaos spoke to me."

("Son of Chaos" was the Tartarus' euphemistic name. Chiron kept telling us to use it instead of his true name. Something about not invoking the awareness of immensely powerful beings.)

"Okay," Jane said slowly, her eyes wide.

"He took over the last spectre," I plunged on, trying to avoid thinking of how chilling that moment had been. "He told me that the invasion of ghosts was only a warning. He said that if we didn't meet his demands, far worse things would happen to the whole city."

The sudden sound of quiet movement made Jane and I both jump, but it was only Kevin turning over in bed. The daughter of Nyx eyed him for a moment, then turned back to me.

"And what are his demands?" she asked, folding her arms tightly.

I thought about it for a brief moment, making sure I recollected it correctly. "He wants something called 'the Ritual of the Pit' handed over to him by the winter solstice.".

Jane looked rather blank and unimpressed. She looked away from me, tilting her head as she frowned in confusion.

"What's that?" she said uncertainly.

"I don't know," I yawned, starting to feel tired again. Telling the story had used up what little energy I'd gotten from sleep. "Something to do with the Son of Chaos, obviously." I paused, glanced towards the clock, remembered I couldn't see in the dark, and said, "What time is it now?"

"Oh, it's almost six o'clock," Jane said, her expression still rather puzzled.

I nodded vaguely, and started to say something else, but my tongue felt heavy with weariness. I blinked once, twice, trying to rouse myself. The third time I blinked, I fell asleep.

* * *

Kevin was woefully unamused by the fact that he'd been beaten by a mere super-powered demonic spectre. For someone who didn't like conflict very much, he took success in battle very seriously.

"To be fair, almost all of us got taken down," I said from my bed, trying to reason with him.

"_You_ didn't!" he exclaimed from his bed, managing to look fearsomely annoyed even whilst wearing teddy bear pyjamas. He folded his arms crossly.

"Well, they weren't as interested in attacking me, since I'm just the mortal guy, right?" I said, in placatory tone. Kevin's only reply was a dour head-shake.

Olivia was equally irritated, although I felt she had better justification for it - who wants to be thrown through the doors of the Empire State Building by a gang of intransigent monster ghosts? She'd started grumbling about two minutes after waking up.

"It was humiliating," she muttered, as she sat up in bed and plumped her pillows aggressively. "A daughter of Hecate, the _only_ child of Hecate with enough strength to perform quanta transmission without collapsing, and I end up being _thrown_ through a pair of stupid _doors_."

"Look at it this way," said Jane, who was already dressed and preparing to leave the infirmary. "You were brought down while heroically defending the entranceway to Olympus."

This did not mollify Olivia, who seemed to take it as a personal insult that she had been unable to personally annihilate every one of the spectres who'd been so impudent as to manhandle her.

(I didn't _dare_ mention how I'd used her stone. I didn't want to be turned into a frog or something.)

I rather hoped that I'd get to stay in the infirmary for a day or two. That way I'd stay out of all the morbid, apocalyptic discussions, maybe even get to miss the apocalypse altogether. It wasn't like they needed me around for it to happen. I could watch the billowing, hellfire-red mushroom clouds of destructions through the window.

Unfortunately, the only thing wrong with me was a lack of enthusiasm, and I was discharged by eleven o'clock. The others were also quickly dispatched back into camp, though they were a lot happier about it than me. Kevin and Jane were practically discharging themselves, and Olivia was so restless in bed that it was clearly counterproductive to keep her there any longer.

(Another reason why I'm glad I'm not a half-blood: it means I don't suffer from almost irrational bouts of ADHD. I mean, no disrespect to people who do, but seriously…)

We did at least get the morning off, though the good mood induced by this was greatly reduced by the announcement that a camp council was going to be held after lunch.

I hated these meetings. They weren't formal or anything, what with being held around the rec room's ping-pong table, but they always managed to make me feel like a total outsider. The half-bloods had their community, and it was usually indistinguishable from a regular teenager sort of community. When they were all together talking about serious mythological matters, though, I felt like a pacifist at an arms manufacturers' convention.

It wasn't that they _tried _to make me feel like an outsider (well, mostly), but something about this type of strategic conference forcefully reminded me that I didn't really belong in the demigod world. I understood the things they talked about, I participated in the discussion, but I always had a sense that I was simply not in my world.

Of course, that wasn't my only issue.

Since it had emerged that Tartarus, the ancient, evil primordial deity, was rising from the depths of his prison, we'd had a number of these councils. Supposedly, their purpose was to decide how to combat Tartarus, but all that ever happened was delays, delays, and more delays.

Chiron said that it wasn't possible for us alone to do anything to fight Tartarus, that we had to wait for him to make the first move. He said we couldn't just fight shadows.

That wasn't the full truth, though, and we all knew it. The reason we hadn't made any move against the son of Chaos was that the orders from on high were to sit on our hands and wait. And when I say "on high", I'm being literal. You don't get much higher than Mount Olympus, after all.

A lot of people were okay with this - most people, in fact. The Greek world had had a _lot_ of turmoil over the last decade, and very few people were keen for another war. The threat from Rhea had eased somewhat in the autumn, since Chiron had reached an agreement with Xavier Graecus, the Rhean high priest. The danger to mortals and to half-bloods had not quantifiably increased, so most people took the view that there was no point in chasing after shadows, because it would only plunge us into unnecessary darkness.

I understood that view. It was a reasonable one, a position completely founded on logic. I, of all people, could totally see that it made sense.

But I, of all people, knew that it was wrong.

Nico di Angelo, Alice Evans and I had been the three people who'd discovered Tartarus' awakening. We'd been _there_, at the very edge of western civilisation. We'd felt the dark power, the strength so great it made a powerful demigod such as Nico seem like little more than a twig in a hurricane. Perhaps if I'd seen the power of Tartarus from afar, I'd be able to pretend that it was no great threat, that it would just go away.

But I'd seen it close up. I'd felt that power hold my life in its hand, with only a tiny thought making the difference between life or death. I'd experienced the cold grasp of the pit - not only that. I'd seen the cold hand of Tartarus drag away Nico di Angelo.

So that was why I was always the advocate for action. A couple others agreed with me, among them Alice Evans, who backed me up whenever she was at camp - which wasn't very often. The world of the gods had taken too much from her.

But maybe now something would happen. The son of Chaos had certainly made a move, unless the gods were going to try to convince us that an invading army of demonic ghosts was actually a gesture of conciliation and friendship.

So for the first time, as I headed to the Big House for the meeting, I felt a little hopeful.

I was late to the council, as I'd gotten stuck telling the story of the battle to Josh and Sophie, the two magic-obsessed twins in the Hermes cabin. I hurried up to the farmhouse, and as I bounded up onto the porch, a cheery voice to my left said, "Hi!"

I looked around.

"Hi, Rachel," I said.

Everyone in camp knew who Rachel Dare was. Apparently she was the Oracle, though I could never quite believe it. Something about her paint-spattered jeans and her constant demeanour of anarchic friendliness didn't really fit with the idea of a serious, doom-bringing Oracle.

She was sitting in a wicker chair on the porch, in her usual T-shirt and jeans. I didn't really talk to her much, but I knew she was good friends with Percy and Annabeth. Everyone always seemed surprised that I wasn't best friends with her, since we were the only two mortals who spent time at camp, but the fact was that I hardly ever ran into her.

"What up, man," Rachel said drily, standing up and looking at me with those sharp green eyes. Her aura was the only thing that made her Oraclehood seem likely - it was a very bright green, and it looked oddly misty, totally unlike any demigod aura.

"I'm just going into the council," I said, tilting my head towards the doors. I guess my flat tone gave away my feelings, because Rachel grinned knowingly.

"Me, too, unfortunately," she said, stepping towards me and sticking her hands in her pockets. "I hate these things. It's so tedious, and everyone just argues."

I frowned at her, as I pushed open the door. "But I've never seen you at them."

"And now you know why," Rachel said cheerfully, walking in behind me and tugging the door shut.

We moved, slowly, towards the rec room, from which we could hear the murmur of voices and movement, as the demigods assembled.

"So I hear that you've got pure sight," the Oracle said, with unusual levels of interest.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, giving her a wary sidelong glance. A lot of people had been asking about that lately. It was starting to get a little tedious. The conversation usually ended in them being woefully unimpressed by my inability to blow things up.

"Cool," Rachel nodded. Then she stopped, a few feet away from the door into the rec room. I paused, too, turning to eye her curiously.

"Let me tell you something," Rachel said, glancing at the room ahead and lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Between us mortals."

"Yeah?" I said, crossing my arms. She was a few inches taller than me, but the Oracle was not remotely imposing.

"Those guys," she said, jerking her thumb towards the door, through which we could see the half-bloods milling around the ping-pong table. "They're a gang of idiots."

"Um," I said wisely, staring at her. I'd rather expected the Oracle to be a pretty big advocate for the role of the half-blood.

"For God's sake, look at them," she said impatiently, flapping her hands in the air. "They're discussing the fate of the world while standing around a _ping-pong table_."

"Yeah," I nodded, starting to smile. "But so are we."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Sure," she muttered, turning to step inside. "But at least we don't act like it's normal. These half-bloods are like, yeah so we're gonna save the world today, gonna kill some monsters. You and me are like, for Christ's sake, what's with the _we?_"


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

_Jim Moriarty: It's going to start very soon, Sherlock. The Fall._

_–_Sherlock, 'The Reichenbach Fall'

* * *

It took another ten minutes to get everyone properly assembled. Chiron called the meeting to order with his usual air of resigned irritation.

I looked around the ping-pong table at the people who were supposed to save the world.

It wasn't a very inspiring bunch. Counsellors from all the main cabins were present, along with some representatives from the minor ones.

(I shouldn't call them "minor", but it annoys Jane.)

I barely knew the names of half of them. Some campers took it as a personal mission to befriend almost every half-blood at camp, but I didn't bother. Getting to know too many people can mean you have too many people to keep happy.

Some gods had only one kid at camp, like Poseidon. Percy was there, naturally, along with Annabeth. By some aberrant clash with the laws of nature, Zack Walker was the official Athena counsellor, but Annabeth was a legend in camp and no-one would dare begrudge her the post whenever she was around.

Alice Evans was there for the Apollo cabin. The last Apollo counsellor had left last summer, and Alice had been given his post, since she'd successfully journeyed to the far reaches of the Underworld and all. I spoke to her just before the meeting started.

"Had any premonitions of doom lately?" I asked cheerfully, leaning across the table to talk quietly.

"No," she replied, with a rueful smile. "But that doesn't mean there's no doom coming, remember?"

I shook my head. "Some prophet you are. I want my money back."

"Sorry," Alice said, giving me a mock wide-eyed stare. "You only get a refund if you die when you weren't meant to."

The Hephaestus counsellor was some guy named Leo Valdez. He was surprisingly young for a counsellor, only fourteen or so. Apparently he'd done something that really impressed the Hephaestus kids, something to do with a flying metal dragon.

I was always perpetually (and illogically) surprised when Kevin didn't turn up as Ares counsellor. In fact, he was too young and inexperienced to hold the post, though his near-defeat of the Hunters in capture-the-flag had certainly bumped him up the list of successors. I didn't even know the name of the actual Ares counsellor. He was some buff, scary guy who always looked ready to charge screaming into an apocalyptic battlefield. He wasn't present today, however. Clarisse La Rue, another camp legend, was here instead.

Piper McLean was the Aphrodite rep. I avoided those Aphrodite kids like the plague. I'd heard too many horror stories about them getting carried away with charmspeak.

The Hermes cabin was represented by Anna Fields, who always seemed to be interested in something completely irrelevant to the topic at hand. Sometimes I wondered if Hermes was actually the patron god of ADHD.

Jane had been appointed counsellor for a number of the minor cabins, mainly because she was so good at getting on with people. She handled the business of keeping people happy with such great ease, a career in politics seemed pretty plausible.

(I'd told her this, but surprisingly she wasn't flattered.)

Olivia was there, on behalf of the Hecate kids alone, which were quite a big group. The goddess of sorcery sure seemed fond of mortals - perhaps because we're so obsessed with spells and magic.

The remaining counsellors were a son of Dionysus, a son of Demeter and a daughter of Hypnos (another minor cabin rep). These three - whose names I didn't even know - seemed woefully uninterested in the idea of an apocalypse. Only several stern proclamations of the meeting's commencement made them pay some degree of attention.

(Hey, I guess the teenage stereotype _does_ have some living justifications!)

All of these half-bloods had their distinctive and bizarre auras, of course, though I'd become quite good at not getting distracted by them. I tended only to look at those halos of colourful light when it actually mattered - otherwise, I was able to ignore them.

Chiron stood at the top of the table, with the more senior demigods - Annabeth, Percy, Clarisse - and Rachel around him. The rest of us stood around the table's edges. I was next to Jane and Olivia, who were right next to Percy.

Finally, as everyone quietened down and began to stare expectantly at Chiron, Mr. D slouched in.

All of us turned, as one, to stare at him. We received a dark glare in reply, as he shuffled over to a bean bag by the wall. He'd barely sat down before he'd slipped a portable games console from his pocket.

(Apparently, Mr. D had previously spent these meetings by reading wine magazines, but when camp had started to use modern technology, he'd quickly become addicted to handheld gaming.)

"Right," Chiron said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "I think you all know why we're here. The son of Chaos recently made a direct attack on the main entrance to Olympus."

I was expecting at least some exhalations of alarm, but none of the half-bloods made a sound or seemed surprised. No-one's expression changed, in fact, though the atmosphere certainly became grimmer.

"He sent an army of ghosts, spectres that he released from the Underworld via a backdoor," Chiron went on stolidly, his eyes roving from face to face. "Four campers were stationed at the Empire State Building to face this force: Kevin Andrews, Olivia Hartnell, Jane Welles and Cyrus Wright."

A couple of murmurs of surprise rustled among those half-bloods who didn't know me personally, while the others just seemed surprised that I'd managed to avoid running myself through with a sword.

"The ghosts proved to be far more dangerous than I had anticipated. Fortunately, the defenders managed to defeat them all. For that, we must thank them," Chiron looked at Jane, Olivia and I, bowing his head a little. Then he glanced sideways at Mr. D, and cleared his throat pointedly.

The god looked up, his eyes unfocussed, and muttered, "Yes! That's right. Sonic did well."

We all exchanged resigned glances.

"Anyway," Chiron continued, turning back to us. "I thought it would be more productive if all of you counsellors heard the report from the battle first-hand, so that we avoid any confusion. Cyrus and the others will now tell us everything that took place."

Cyrus and the others now told them everything that took place.

We took turns describing the events on Fifth Avenue. At first, many people looked only vaguely interested, but as the story progressed, eyes widened and air was sharply inhaled as everyone listened intently. A grim look came across Annabeth's eyes, which I always consider equivalent to a warning of imminent nuclear disaster. Clarisse grew tenser and tenser, her fists clenched upon the table's edge, though she did seem at least a little impressed by how we'd faced down the whole legion of spectres. Percy wore a deep frown, though this tended towards making him look puzzled rather than concerned.

When Olivia got to the part about being unceremoniously flung through the doors of the Empire State Building, even Mr. D glanced up. Jane described how she'd taken us in front of the remaining spectres, and then I had to finish the tale.

Sometimes I can be pretty boastful, but not over something so serious, and especially not with so many people listening. I did what I could to downplay my role after Kevin passed out. Still, it's hard to understate the impossibly bizarre nature of a vanilla mortal summoning up the unstoppable power of spectre-exploding magic.

"But, that's not possible!" Olivia exclaimed, somewhat redundantly, whilst the others looked at me in amazed confusion. "Only a person with some minimum of magical ability can use those stones, and _no_ mortal can activate them unless they have godly blood somewhere in their family tree!"

"That's not always the case," Chiron interjected, calmer than anyone else in the room. "Some regular mortals are known to wield magic, but generally only in extreme circumstances. I think we will find that if Cyrus tried to use magic right now, it would be impossible. He probably has just enough capability to activate a magical focus in a life-or-death situation. Please, continue."

This rather put a dampener on the demigods, who seemed very eager to accept the idea that I was actually a wizard. Presumably, it would have made it easier for them to understand why the heck a mortal was being made hang around Camp Half-Blood. I wasn't really convinced by Chiron's explanation, either, but I decided to put it aside. There was certainly enough going on.

I quickly finished the rest of the tale, finally reaching the emergence of the son of Chaos and the message he'd given.

"He said he wanted this Ritual of the Pit by the winter solstice," I said, in conclusion. "He told me that if we didn't hand it over, the city would suffer."

I fell silent. Everyone continued to eye me for a brief moment, as they absorbed my grim announcements. Even Anna Fields was focussed on the matter at hand. The significance of Tartarus coming close to breaking into Olympus on his first attempt was not lost on any of us. I looked at Chiron.

The centaur's mouth was set in a thin, tight line, and his eyes were downcast. He didn't seem surprised or shocked - simply worried, deeply, deeply worried. He seemed not to notice that I'd finished talking, and he only looked up when Percy asked, "So… what does this mean?"

Chiron took a long, deep breath, before looking at us all and saying, "Well, this is exactly what I feared." He met my eyes. "Thank you, Cyrus, for reporting all of this. I wish I could tell you and your friends that that was the last time you'll have to face the son of Chaos, but I fear the truth is quite the opposite."

"But what was he talking about?" Percy said, looking rather alarmed now. He pressed his hands down on the table, making it creak a little. "What's this ritual thing?"

"I've never heard of it," Annabeth murmured, her arms folded, her fingers drumming on her forearm. "There's so little information on the son of Chaos in any of the archives."

A few murmurs of confusion worked through the half-bloods, until everyone went quiet again, now waiting for Chiron to explain things. He took a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"I know what the ritual is," he said finally, not quite looking at anyone in particular. "At least, I know _of_ it. Its existence isn't publicised, and for good reason."

Chiron paused again. For once, no-one spoke.

"I don't know for certain if the following is true," he went on, looking at the backs of his hands. "Hardly anyone knows the full and exact truth about this piece of magic. What I believe to be the case is that the Ritual of the Pit is an ancient rite, a ceremony of power that has one terrible purpose. It has never been proven or confirmed, but the consensus among us who know of this is that it is designed to raise the son of Chaos from his prison and into our world."

I think a few people shivered. I know I did.

"How?" Annabeth asked quietly, her grey eyes frozen over with anxiety. "Can the ritual bring him _all_ the way up from the pit?"

Chiron rubbed his brow, sighing. He looked tired, and there was a lack of energy in his shoulders, as though even talking about this was draining him of all hope and enthusiasm.

"Not entirely," he answered. "I don't think any ritual would be capable of that. The son of Chaos is enchained by many distinct measures. What is definite is that the ritual works to aid his rise. Most likely, it releases his consciousness from where it is incarcerated in the pit of Tartarus. I don't know the specifics: this is the sort of thing which the gods have kept hidden and secret. No-one wants to be responsible for letting the son of Chaos back into the world."

"So, let me get this straight," Leo Valdez broke in suddenly. His eyes were lit up with almost manic alarm. "What's happened here is that Tart— the pit guy sent this army of monster spirits to warn us that if we don't give him the shovel he needs to dig his way up to us, he'll make some seriously crazy crap go down."

"Replace 'shovel' with 'gargantuan tunnel-carving machine'," Chiron said darkly, "and you have it exactly right."

This seemed to merit a moment of silence, because no-one spoke for a minute or two, as we contemplated this warning of an apocalypse.

Somehow, I wasn't overly surprised. It had always seemed a mere matter of time until Tartarus would start to make his moves, to pose his threats. In a way, this wasn't _too_ bad - at least he hadn't immediately launched into a massive apocalyptic attack on Olympus. At least this way, we had a _forewarning_ of the apocalypse.

(I'm grasping at straws, aren't I?)

"So, what are we supposed to do?" Clarisse said finally, crossing her arms with a frustrated air. "If we give him the ritual, one thing will lead to another, and eventually he'll be here, trying to kill us all personally. If we don't give him the ritual, he'll send his minions to kill us all by proxy."

This clarification didn't exactly improve the mood of the group. I couldn't help noticing how everyone's auras had darkened and dulled. Things were looking more dire than even the demigods were used to.

"Thank you for summarising the situation so clearly, Clarisse," Chiron said, sounding slightly amused. "Well, clearly we cannot give the ritual to the son of Chaos. We'd probably be better off handing him a nuclear warhead."

"Now there's an idea," Clarisse muttered.

"There's a chance that this is all a bluff," Annabeth interjected. She'd been deep in thought for several minutes, and seemed now to be reaching conclusions. "If Hades can find a way to stop the spirits escaping the Underworld, the son of Chaos won't have any resources to mount further attacks."

"But that's assuming Tar— the son of Chaos doesn't have some other back exit that Hades doesn't know about," I pointed out. "We're talking about the god of the oldest, darkest prison in existence. All the monsters _live_ in Tartarus. How do _we_ know he doesn't have another way to get his armies up to us?"

As is often the case, no-one was happy to hear my suggestion, though nobody disputed it. Annabeth nodded vaguely and went back to frowning fiercely at the table, while a few of the more inexperienced half-bloods glared at me as though it was all my fault.

"But maybe we're overestimating the power of his armies," Jane suggested, looking at Chiron hopefully. "After all, just four of us managed to take down all those spirits. Imagine how easily a whole army of demigods would deal with the threat."

A few people, including Percy and Leo, nodded at this. Some others went from looking at me as though I was actually Tartarus incarnate to gazing at Jane as though she was Athena herself.

Unfortunately, Annabeth, the _daughter_ of Athena, had a more sobering thought.

"Remember, all of you," she said, looking around at us all solemnly. "One of the worst mistakes any strategist can make is to underestimate the opponent's strength. Those forces were meant as a warning, not as a real invading army."

I sighed, shaking my head. This seemed impossible. Whatever we did, Tartarus had us caught in a trap. It could be that he was bluffing - but it was too risky for us to assume that. We seemingly had no option but to give him the ritual - but that would mean we'd be screwed anyway. In a single, tiny move, Tartarus had cornered us all.

I took a step back from the table, and tried to visualise the situation as a chess game. The others went on talking, but I paid no attention. I pictured it in my mind. Most pieces were still on the board, but already Tartarus had us a few moves away from checkmate. His strategy was quickly tightening around us. It seemed that every angle was covered.

I used my favourite technique: I looked at the situation from my opponent's point of view.

What did Tartarus expect from us? What reply did he anticipate to his threat?

You might think that it would be rather difficult to conceive the expectations of an incredibly ancient primordial being, but the answer came to me, emerging from my thoughts like a submarine from a stormy sea.

He would expect us to defy him.

After all, that's what the children of the gods did. That's what the Olympians did. Every threat, every danger, every monster was faced. The record was there. The gods and their offspring did not negotiate with terrorists.

But now, against a threat darker than any other, we needed a different strategy. To gain an advantage, I realised, we had no choice but to catch the opponent unawares and use his surprise against him.

"I know what to do," I said abruptly, talking over Leo, who was arguing a point animatedly.

Everyone looked at me, as I stepped back to the edge of the table.

"Come again?" Annabeth said, eyeing me carefully.

I swallowed, suddenly becoming aware of the focus now resting on me.

"I know what to do," I repeated, making a bad attempt at sounding certain. "It's not as complicated as you think."

Many of the demigods exchanged doubtful looks, but said nothing.

"Okay," Chiron said slowly, not looking overly confident himself. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath.

"We give the son of Chaos the ritual," I said. "Or, at least, we give him a very similar copy."

Unsurprisingly, this suggestion was not met with any great amount of enthusiasm.

"Um, Cyrus," Percy said slowly, obviously trying not to offend me. "I don't see how that helps."

"It's obvious," I replied, talking a little more excitedly. This had to be the solution. "Tartarus wants some kind of scroll or book or something, right? The ritual must be written on it. We go get it and make a copy, but not an _exact_ one. We change the ritual a little bit - alter the incantations, change the ingredients list, I don't know. But we make sure to fix it so that the ritual will completely backfire and actually send Tar— the son of Chaos _deeper_ into his prison."

It took a moment for this to percolate through the minds of the half-bloods. Annabeth was the first to get it.

"Of course," she said, a smile of comprehension spreading across her face. "That's perfect. The last thing he'll expect us to do is to just _hand_ him the ritual, so he won't suspect something like this."

"Who knows?" Jane said, rubbing her hands thoughtfully. "Maybe this will take care of him completely."

The hopefulness of my idea spread through the half-bloods, making their collective mood pick up. Both faces and auras brightened, and even Chiron seemed to relax a little. I gave myself a mental clap on the back. It's always nice being the one with the clever solution.

"That's all great," Rachel Dare said suddenly. "But where _is_ the ritual?"

Everyone looked at her. She'd spoken very little throughout the meeting, apparently content to observe our discussion without getting involved. She stood a few feet behind and to the right of Chiron. I got the feeling that she preferred to stay mostly neutral. I guess sitting on the fence is the most appropriate position for an Oracle.

"Good point, Rach," Annabeth said, looking slightly annoyed that she hadn't been the first one to ask this one. "Where is it, Chiron?"

Rachel's detached air discouraged the gazes of the half-bloods, and they were happy to shift their focus to Chiron. He didn't answer right away, seemingly distracted by his thoughts. He only looked up after a lengthy moment of consideration.

"This is an excellent idea," Chiron declared, meeting my eyes. "Thank you, Cyrus, This can solve many problems. As for the ritual, well, that may be a little more difficult. It is held in the gods' own personal citadel of mythology, where they store every single artefact, scroll and record pertinent to their existence."

Most of us just looked at Chiron blankly, but Annabeth seemed to know what he was talking about.

"But I thought that was just a myth!" she exclaimed, leaning towards Chiron a little. "Is it real?"

"Of course it's a myth," he replied, with a smile. "But that doesn't mean it isn't real. No, Olympus Library is a real, powerful and heavily guarded place, and it is where we will find the Ritual of the Pit."


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

_Rustin Cohle: You know, when people give me advice, I reckon they're only talking to themselves._

–'True Detective'

* * *

"No, the knight, not the bishop!"

"What?"

"Too late, you've taken your hand away."

"But why would I move the knight? It'll only expose the pawn."

"Yeah, but now you've moved the bishop, you've left your _other_ knight wide open."

I scowled at the board.

Kevin and I were sitting across from each other at the Hermes table in the dining pavilion, playing chess. We were the only people there: everyone else in camp had important things to do, but Kevin and I had been given the whole day off, on account of our heroics.

The meeting had broken up half an hour ago. I suppose I _could_ have declined the free time and gone to an archery class, but I'm not a _total_ nimrod.

"So what he did say then?" the son of Ares asked, pondering his next move.

I sighed. "Well, then Chiron told us that no demigod has been allowed into Olympus Library in hundreds of years."

The son of Ares frowned, though whether at the board or at what I'd said, I wasn't sure.

"But he said he's confident that the gods will provide clearance, since, you know, the evil ancient primordial force of darkness and monstrosity has threatened to attack and destroy the Olympians' home city," I finished.

Kevin's frown deepened. "He actually said that?" he asked, glancing up at me briefly.

"Well, not exactly," I conceded, rubbing my gloved hands together. The dining pavilion was a good spot for some peace and quiet in the daytime, but it still wasn't exactly toasty in this wintry weather. "He said that the gods would provide clearance since this is an _exceptional circumstance_, but we all knew what he meant."

"Ah," Kevin nodded. He finally took my knight, making the move with his usual demure air, as though the ingenious manoeuvre was actually a lucky accident.

I went back to glaring at the chessboard. Playing with Kevin had been all well and good when he'd lacked the confidence to commit to a strategy, but now that I'd helped him find some self-belief, I was losing with worrying frequency.

(Me and my goddamn inclination to be helpful.)

"So who's going to get the ritual?" Kevin asked. I heard a note of laughter in his voice, and I glanced up at him. Sure enough, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. My incredibly bad position in the game was providing him with great entertainment, as usual.

"Annabeth," I muttered, hesitatingly reaching my hand towards a pawn, before flinching away from it as though it was made of fire when I saw how bad an idea it was to move it. "She was unanimously elected to be the ritual-retriever."

A chilly wind blew, nearly toppling over a few pieces. I cast a dark look into the ether.

"I say elected," I went on, moving my one remaining rook, "but it wasn't that formal. Jane asked, 'Who's going to get the ritual?' and everyone in the room just looked at the daughter of Athena."

Kevin laughed.

"She's kind of the obvious choice, though, right?" he said, drumming his fingers on the table slowly as he examined the board. I prayed that he'd be fooled into thinking I actually had a plan.

We fell silent as the son of Ares planned his move. I glanced around the pavilion. It was funny how almost no-one ever came here, apart from at mealtimes. Admittedly, it wasn't the most hospitable of areas, since the heat from the fire at the pavilion's centre didn't spread very far in the icy cold. It had proper tables, though - that doesn't sound particularly spectacular, but the only other places at camp with decent tables were the Big House, the arts/crafts building and a few of the more erudite cabins.

Then again, I mused, not many campers tended to _need_ proper tables. Dyslexic, ADHD teenaged half-bloods don't usually tend towards activities that involve sitting around at _tables_.

"Was that it, then?" Kevin asked, unsubtly trying to distract me from the fact that he'd just taken my queen.

"Oh, he just went into the logistics of the expedition," I replied, not bothering to disguise the grumpy look I threw his way. "Apparently security clearance should arrive from Olympus by tomorrow morning, and Annabeth will leave as soon as she gets it."

"I wonder what 'security clearance' will mean," the son of Ares said absently, tightening his scarf. "Will they send, like, a glowing gold passport?"

I shrugged.

A little hope returned to me as I considered the board again. Kevin had missed something! There was an opening in his defences, albeit a risky one. I tried not to break into a grin as I planned my last-ditch offensive.

"He also said that Annabeth needs two people to go with her," I added, disguising my glee with a solemn frown. "I don't see why. Something to do with three people being better for the mythological ju-ju of the quest."

"Did Chiron say it like that?" Kevin asked doubtfully.

"No," I shook my head. I worked hard to appear innocent and relaxed as I nudged my bishop into position. "So she has to pick two people by tomorrow morning. I'd say she'll bring two of her siblings."

Kevin leaned forward, peering at my side of the board with narrowed eyes. I crossed my fingers under the table.

"As long as Zack doesn't go," he muttered darkly. "He'd never shut up if he got on a big mission like this."

"She won't be bringing him," I said, with surety. I leaned back and folded my arms. "The two of them don't exactly get along. Zack is even bossier than Annabeth, and he's not terribly loyal. That doesn't really endear him to her, as you can imagine…"

"Yeah," Kevin nodded. He went very still as he considered the state of play.

We sat in silence for a moment. Kevin's moves were always longer than mine. He tended to take his time, considering everything, thinking innumerable moves into the future. I tried to do that, too, but sometimes I got irritated and just moved whatever seemed like a good idea. Amazingly, this rarely went well for me.

"So what do _you_ think of everything that's going on?" I asked him, trying to use a little conversation to make him miss the checkmate I was trying to cobble together. "Got any wise observations for me?"

"I don't know…" he muttered vaguely. He knew my tactics, and didn't look up until he'd made his move. Finally, he shifted his queen a mere square.

"Things are a bit confusing, I think," he said, meeting my gaze. "Why has the son of Chaos taken action now?"

"I guess because he's gotten strong enough," I shrugged, reaching towards a pawn. "What else could it be?"

"True," Kevin nodded, resting his chin on his hand, watching me. "But then, why would he demand the ritual, if he knows that we're going to refuse to hand it over? It's not like the gods have a record of being compliant."

I paused, my hand in mid-air. That was a good point. My whole idea of giving Tartarus a copy was built on the fact that he wouldn't expect the gods to obey him - so what _did_ he expect to achieve by making this ultimatum?

"Maybe he's trying to incite us," I said, lowering my hand as I reconsidered the move. "He's trying to make us react, so that we put ourselves in a vulnerable position. Then he'll be able to slink in from behind and stick in the knife."

"Makes sense," the son of Ares replied, his eyes drifting back and forth between me and the board. I kept my face completely neutral, making sure I gave no indication of the fact that I was three moves away from victory.

We always played like this. We talked normally, without even a tiny hint of competitiveness seeping into the conversation. The quick movements of our eyes and the tiny twitches of our expressions always told the real story. It was funny, really. _Listening_ to us would make you think we were just two guys having an interesting chat. _Looking_ at us would make you think we were having a complex, life-or-death battle of wills.

I made my move, and tried not to break into a grin. Two moves, now.

"I wonder where Jake falls in all of this," Kevin said suddenly, his eyes flickering from piece to piece.

"He doesn't have much to do with any of it, at this point," I said, shrugging. "Chiron and the Rheans agreed to have a truce until the threat from Tart— the son of Chaos has been removed. Jake was one of Rhea's head loonies, right? So now he's got nothing to do. He probably spends his time practicing villainous grins in the mirror."

"I suppose," Kevin nodded, not sounding entirely convinced. He moved his knight, a decision which seemed completely pointless to me. "I've always wondered why he has such an interest in you, though."

The wind picked up again, and the icy breeze made me shiver. I drew my jacket tighter about me. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," he said, looking up at me and raising his eyebrows. "He's with the Rheans, right?"

I nodded.

"You told me Hades said that the gods think you're important for stopping Tartarus, or something like that?"

"He said there's a prophecy," I said, starting to scowl. The _prontos profiteia_ was not something I liked to talk, or even think about. "A prophecy that says a dark time will come for the gods, when the shadows rise, and one person will be able to turn the tide."

"Right," Kevin said levelly. "And that threat is obviously Tartarus, and the gods think you're the one who can save the day."

"So what's your point?" I said testily - a little _too_ testily. I'd been trying to avoid thinking about this ever since I'd learned of it.

"Just think about it," Kevin repeated. He spread his hands flat on the table. "Tartarus is the major threat, not Rhea, and yet Jake, who works for Rhea, was the one interested in you."

I frowned, looking back at the chessboard. I didn't like to admit it, but Kevin was raising a valid point. If I was important to a fight between the gods and Tartarus, what could that possibly have to do with Rhea? I shook my head frustratedly, as I made my penultimate move.

"Maybe it's because Tartarus rising disrupts Rhea's own plans," I suggested, scratching my head. "I'd say an ancient primordial deity starting a fight with the Olympians would probably cause her a few problems. It'd be in her interests for the son of Chaos to be put away easily and quickly."

The son of Ares didn't reply right away, but sat in thought for a long moment, considering both my words and the chessboard. Finally, he made a move, and looked up at me.

"I don't know about that," Kevin said, shaking his head. "Any problem for the gods would be an opportunity for Rhea. I still think there's something else going on." He glanced at the board, smiled, and said, "Checkmate, by the way."

I stared at the chessboard in disbelief. All that time, Kevin had been arranging another manoeuvre which I hadn't even noticed. The attack I'd thought he'd been planning had been a distraction, and he'd set things up so that when I tried to make a checkmate, it left me defenceless against his.

* * *

Kevin and I hung around the pavilion for a while longer before heading back to our cabins. When I reached the Hermes cabin, I found, to my surprise, Annabeth standing outside of it.

"Uh, hi," I said warily, as I approached.

Annabeth Chase was one of those demigods who I always found a bit scary. Probably it was because of her aura, which surrounded her head like a stormy halo. The auras of all children of Athena were focussed around their heads, presumably because, you know, they were so smart. It was more pronounced with Annabeth, though. It seemed like literally her entire aura was whirling around her head. There was another, subtler difference, too - her colourful halo had a sense of intangible intensity to it that was a little disconcerting.

Somehow, though, that was not the only disconcerting thing about Annabeth Chase. Her steely gaze could get so dark and intense, I would often wonder if she was determining the most effective and efficient way to kill me.

"Hi, Cyrus," she said. She was standing around outside the front door of the Hermes cabin, and the air of relief she had as she greeted me suggested that she'd been waiting for me. I stopped in front of her, waiting.

"I came down to ask," Annabeth said, gazing at me steadily, "if you will come with me to Olympus Library."

Uh.

I just eyed her for a moment.

I'd taken it for granted that Annabeth would be bringing her own siblings to Olympus. It sounded like a no-brainer: who else would you bring along when visiting one of the oldest libraries in existence, but your siblings who are natural scholars and librarians? That was the logical choice, and Annabeth didn't strike me as one for making decisions based on sentimentality or random instinct.

Obviously, I'd made a mistake somewhere in that line of logic. Hell, it wasn't like I was unhappy. Of course I wanted to visit the library that held all the records of ancient mythologies, but I simply could not understand _why_. I couldn't help but wonder if a joke was being played on me, or if I was being set up.

(I really overthink things.)

I wasn't able to translate all this into words, however, and instead just said, in an uncertain tone, "Why me?"

Annabeth looked unsurprised at my question - I kind of got the impression that she would've been disappointed if I _hadn't_ asked it.

"I need people who are reliable," she said seriously. "Alice told me how well you dealt with the situation down in the Underworld, and I thought you sounded like just the sort of person I need."

I opened my mouth and closed it again, feeling a little overwhelmed. I didn't often get compliments from demigods, so to be getting one from _Annabeth Chase_ was a little surreal.

"Wouldn't you be better with, I don't know, Percy or Clarisse?" I asked, not sure why I was arguing.

Annabeth snorted. "Are you crazy? Those two are great warriors, but if I bring them along, we'll be lucky if the Library hasn't been burnt to the ground by the time we're done."

I nodded, and started to grin as it sank in that I was getting to visit the mother of all mythological libraries. There'd probably be a predictable "touch nothing" rule, but still.

"Okay," I said. "Great. Thank you."

Annabeth smiled in reply, looking a little relieved. She clapped her gloved hands together, and said, "Good. Be ready to leave tomorrow."

"I will," I nodded, as she turned and walked off in the direction of her cabin.

I stood there for a moment, taking in that conversation. It had never really occurred to me that other people would hear - or even care - about the things I'd done in the Underworld last summer . Who on earth would be interested in the random misadventures a hapless mortal got himself into? And I hadn't thought I'd done anything particularly stand-out down there. If I had, why wasn't Nico here with us at camp?

For the first time, though, I realised that maybe some half-bloods didn't just care about results. In a volatile world like this one, bad things could happen at any time, no matter what anyone did. Each person could only do so much, and I guess what really mattered was how _well_ each person did what they could. It figured that wiser demigods, like Annabeth, would understand this.

(Still, I _really_ didn't think I'd done anything all that great on the journey to the Edge of the West, but maybe I was judging myself by the wrong standards.)

(And hey, who was I to argue with Annabeth Chase, architect of Olympus, defender of the West?)

* * *

Only Camp Half-Blood would have a campfire singalong the night after the darkest primordial being in existence tried to break into Olympus itself.

I guess you have to give them points for positivity.

Sometimes I skipped these singalongs, but tonight I was feeling a bit more _esprit de corps_ than usual. I was still buoyed up from Annabeth's invitation, and the fact that we were, after all, using my plan to counter Tartarus made me feel particularly self-confident.

So, I headed for the amphitheatre along with the other campers.

The general mood among the demigods was still typically bright. The story of what had happened at the Empire State Building hadn't yet filtered out through the camp, and those who knew the details didn't seem eager to share them. I was glad of this. The less people that knew of Tartarus' threat, the less people that would be panicking or arguing, and the last thing we needed was any kind of discord.

I looked around for Jane or Kevin, as I was buffeted along amidst the crowd of half-bloods heading from the dining pavilion to the amphitheatre. I couldn't see Jane anywhere, but I spotted Kevin with a few of his siblings.

(It always amazed and amused me how much the Ares kids liked singalongs. You'd think that the children of the _war god _would not be fond of jovially chanting old ballads around a blazing fire, but they enjoyed it nearly as much as a sword-fighting tournament.)

(The fact that many of the songs involved dramatic, bloody, and/or corpse-laden heroic deeds was probably a key contributing factor.)

The Apollo children always led the singalong. A group of five or six of them stood at the centre of the amphitheatre, taking turns to direct proceedings. The fire at the very centre of the amphitheatre was enchanted so that its colour reflected the mood of the surrounding campers. Tonight it was a cheerful, crackling golden yellow, though there was a few sparks of darker red and brown.

We all funnelled through the main entrance. In here, inter-cabin interaction was encouraged, and seating was not arranged according to godly parent. In my good mood, I embraced the principles of socialisation, and sat down on the nearest bench, without checking to see who else was there.

This turned out to be something of a mistake.

"Oh, hi there, Cyrus," a chilly voice said in my ear.

I looked around in confusion, and my heart sank.

I'd sat down next to Zack Walker and his buddies.

The son of Athena looked down at me with a dark air, sort of like an infuriated owl. He was a good head taller than me, something which he did not fail to emphasis at any possible opportunity.

"Um. Hi, Zack," I muttered, wondering if I should cut my losses and get up right away.

"How are you?" he said smoothly and friendlily. A little _too_ friendlily. His tone didn't really match the derisive look in his grey eyes.

I cautiously glanced down the bench. To my horror, a collection of Zack's friends and allies ranged the whole length of it. None of them were what you could call _pro-mortal_.

"I'm okay," I said neutrally, looking back at Zack. His gaze was cold, but his face was very still, as though he was holding himself back. For some insane reason, this encouraged me. I decided to hang on for a few more moments. Perhaps it would be good, I reasoned, to try to mend divisions by extending the hand of friendship. I mean, I might _lose_ said hand, but you have to take risks every now and then.

"How are _you_?" I said, making an effort to sound relatively polite and friendly.

"Oh, I'm well," Zack said, looking a little surprised that I hadn't run away already. He started to say something else, but was cut off as the first song began.

A cheerful-looking son of Apollo (which is really a redundant statement) with spiky hair and a vivid golden aura was beginning a resounding rendition of _The Ballad Of Hercules_. He waved his hands enthusiastically, and the campfire blazed higher as the ballad was gradually picked up by the half-bloods.

"Altogether now!" Spiky Hair declared.

And so the song rang out through the amphitheatre.

_Hercules the hero, Hercules the great,_

_He was a symbol, an emblem with weight._

_The son of Zeus used power,_

_But he did not turn sour._

_He fought the monsters,_

_And was reborn in the stars._

(I never said that the demigods were good songwriters.)

It went on for another six verses, but I don't think I need to record them here. Some things should be left in the past.

As the song ended (the Apollo kids were, as always, the last to fall silent, as they dragged out the final verse interminably), Zack said, "So I hear that you were at Olympus."

"Yeah," I said slowly, eyeing him. I wasn't sure how this conversation was going to end, but it felt like I ought to stick with it. "Me and a few others. We were holding off the spectres."

"What was that like?" he asked, in a calm tone.

I paused, thinking. I hadn't really spoken to Zack since early August, and that had only been a brief discussion about capture-the-flag. He hadn't been openly rude to me since I'd helped camp nearly beat the Hunters at capture-the-flag. That said, I'd heard a lot of rumours that he was sowing seeds of doubt about me around camp.

"It was okay," I said finally. "Pretty intense, you know?"

"Yeah," Zack nodded. His friends weren't saying anything to us, just talking among themselves. A few kept casting watchful glances in my direction.

The Apollo kids hadn't begun their next song yet. There seemed to be some disagreement over who was going to lead it. Three of them were arguing vociferously with a fourth, who appeared to be holding the lyric sheet hostage.

"So I heard that Annabeth's going to Mount Olympus," Zack went on, his steady gaze resting on me.

Alarm bells should have started going off in my head at that point, but I was still feeling suicidally sociable.

"Yep," I nodded. "That should be fun for her."

"Any idea who's going with her, by any chance?" he asked, his tone growing sharper.

"Um…" I said slowly, abruptly aware that declaring how _I _was going with her probably wouldn't be a smart move. A few more of Zack's gang eyed me, now with open derision.

The Apollo kids finally got their problem sorted out, and the song began. The marching ballad, _Blood Of The Sun,_ was picked up by the half-bloods, slowly spreading upwards through the amphitheater towards us.

"I heard a few rumours," Zack went on, ignoring the singing.

Finally, I realised where this was headed, and started feeling awfully naive for not getting away while I had the chance.

"I heard someone say," he said carefully, not taking his eyes - which seemed to be growing colder by the second - off me, "that _you_ were going."

The way he said "you", like I was some kind of bad weed, was what finally pushed me out of my friendly, sociable state. I scowled. I could understand Zack having a problem with me going instead of, say, him, but that didn't give him the right to talk to me like I was a piece of bad dust on his bookshelf.

"So what if I am?" I replied, sitting up straighter in my seat, my fists clenching.

A couple of heads in the row below us turned our way, but quickly turned away again as the tempo of the song picked up.

"Well, Cyrus," Zack said, crossing his arms, "I don't know if you're the best person for this. I mean, no disrespect or anything, but there's far more appropriate people available."

I stared at him. My own gaze had probably become as cold as his.

"Excuse me?" I said, my voice little more than a whisper. How dare he talk to me like this? Had _he_ been there at Olympus? Had _he_ faced the army of spectres?

"You know," he said, smiling a little, as though that would make his words more palatable. "You're not exactly someone who needs to be going to the home of the gods."

So that's what it was all about. Full understanding turned the pit of my stomach cold. Despite everything, Zack was still holding onto his stupid prejudices. Obviously those rumours had been true.

"And why is _that_?" I snapped, my voice going up quite a bit.

"You're a mortal," Zack said, dropping any attempt to hide the contempt in his tone. "You have no place in the Olympians' place of power. It just isn't your world."

I rose to my feet very slowly, my fists clenched tight. People were starting to stare now, with more and more heads turning towards us. Anger shuddered within me. It may not be right, it may not be wrong, but I have my pride, and I would not let anyone suggest that I wasn't as worthy as any demigod. It wasn't about going to Olympus - it was about one person standing equal to any other.

"You really think," I said, trying to keep my voice relatively low, "that just because I don't have some bloody godly blood in my veins, I'm not worthy of visiting Olympus?"

Zack looked up at me, almost but not quite expressionless. His friends watched me carefully, perhaps waiting for me to throw myself at their leader. He took his time replying, taking a deep breath before answering, "Yes."

I stood very still, clenching my fists tighter as a way to hold myself back. I was fine with Zack disagreeing with me because of something I said or did, but I was simply _not_ fine with him disagreeing with me because of _who_ I was. It wasn't simply unfair - it was wrong.

I raised one finger, pointing it at Zack in condemnation. He tensed a little in his seat, probably getting ready to fight back if I started attacking, but he didn't need to bother.

"I hear you, Zack," I said icily. "I hear you. And, you know what? If that's how you're going to be, if those are the lines you're going to draw, you can take yourself and your goddamn gods, and you can put it all in goddamn _Tartarus_."

Without waiting to hear his response, I turned on my heel and marched out of the amphitheatre.

They probably started talking about me as soon as I'd vanished from sight, but I didn't care. I stomped off in the direction of the cabins, fuming. At that moment, it was very difficult not to view Zack as a reflection of demigods in general. For a few angry seconds, I was tempted to go find Annabeth and tell her what she could do with her damned quest.

After barely a minute, though, I heard a voice calling my name.

"Cyrus! _Cyrus_!"

I slowed, and glanced around, to see Jane hurrying up behind me. She had just emerged from the amphitheatre, and was striding towards me.

Well. Maybe _some_ half-bloods had a sense of decency.

"Hey," she said, as she drew near. "Did you really just say 'goddamn gods'?"

That little, seemingly pointless comment went a long way to giving me perspective. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I was really overreacting.

"Uh," I answered. "I think so?"

Jane laughed, drawing level with me. We stood together, near the lake, as I slowly calmed down.

"So what's up?" Jane said, her dark eyes scanning me carefully.

I sighed, feeling a little deflated now the moment had passed. "Oh, you know. People being mean. You probably heard it. Most of camp probably heard it."

"You shouldn't let him get to you," she told me earnestly, putting a hand on my arm. "The way you lose to people like him is by letting your anger win."

I thought about that for a second. Jane wasn't generally someone who spouted wisdom, but that made a lot of sense. Of course Zack wanted me to get mad - it just proved him right, proved that a mortal like me is too much of a wildcard in the world of the gods. If I disliked him all that much, I needed to prove him wrong.

"I guess you're right," I said, with a shrug.

Jane grinned, clapped her hands together, and said, "Of course. When aren't I?"


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

_The Doctor: You know when grown-ups tell you, 'everything's going to be fine,' and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?_

_Amelia Pond: Yes…_

_The Doctor: Everything's going be fine._

–Doctor Who, 'The Eleventh Hour'

* * *

Sure enough, at breakfast the next morning Chiron announced that Annabeth and her companions had been given clearance to enter the Library of Olympus.

"The gods were reluctant to allow a half-blood to enter the vaults," Chiron said, looking around at us all. "However, when I explained the nature of the son of Chaos' threat, they decided that there was no other alternative."

He paused, waiting for his audience to take that in. Quite a few people looked confused: the full story about the battle with the spectres was trickling through camp, but slowly.

"Annabeth will bring two companions with her," he went on, rubbing his brow. "She chose these people according to her own criteria, without consulting anyone else."

Chiron let that one hang in the air for a moment. Presumably, he didn't want to be the one who got the blame when he announced that I was going. For the first time, I wondered who the other companion was. I hadn't really given it any thought since I'd talked to Annabeth. I would've guessed Percy, but she'd dismissed that as a possibility…

"Those two people are Cyrus Wright and Jane Welles," Chiron declared, finishing a little quickly, as though anxious to put distance between himself and the names of such undesirable quest companions.

There was a vaguely confused silence, just for a moment, as though people weren't quite sure if they'd heard what they thought they'd heard. Heck, it took me a second to actually understand what Chiron had said. Annabeth had chosen _Jane_? The daughter of Nyx had become as good a demigod as any, but she wasn't exactly the first person you'd think of when it came to retrieving arcane artefacts.

I looked across the pavilion, searching for her. Many demigods were frowning, though most did not look angry. I think a large number of them were just trying to remember who this Cyrus Wright guy was. I had been officially introduced to the campers (which was a long time ago now) but I didn't exactly go around getting to know everyone, so many of them had only a very vague concept of my existence.

I noticed a few dark expressions here and there, with some frowns coming in my direction. Zack and a few of his buddies were muttering mutinously amongst each other, but since Annabeth herself was sitting at the Athena table, they didn't speak out.

A number of people, I realised, actually looked quite happy. At first this confused me: did I actually have far more friends at camp than I knew? Then I understood. Jane was friendly with almost everyone, and she seemed to have introduced herself to almost every half-blood alive. As a result, she had a lot of people who supported her, and a whole lot more who wouldn't want to oppose her.

Finally, I found her. She was sitting at her table, her head tilted quizzically to one side as she looked at Chiron. I could understand her surprise - while Jane was certainly streetwise and smart when it came to being in the field, she wasn't really someone who liked to sit down with a good, heavy book. I had no idea why Annabeth was bringing her on this - but knowing the daughter of Athena, there had to be some plan behind it.

"I take it that there are no objections," Chiron said finally. He glanced pointedly at Zack and his knot of rebels, but they didn't return his cool gaze. A few murmurs of assent went around the pavilion, before Chiron went on, "Annabeth and her two companions should report to the Big House in two hours' time. Their preparations for this mission shall be facilitated by all campers."

He sat down, calmly shifting his attention back to finishing his breakfast. I felt a vague pressure across my shoulders, as though something was pressing upon me. I frowned, and glanced around me.

Sure enough, everyone at the Hermes cabin was staring at me as though I'd just fallen down out of the last raincloud.

I grinned.

"So, guys," I said, putting on an air of showmanship, and taking a dramatic sip from my cup, "did I tell you the story of how I defeated the son of Chaos' monstrous army of spectres during the Battle of the Lobby of the Empire State Building?"

* * *

I sat on my bed in the Hermes cabin, getting ready to visit the home of the gods.

The others were all, mercifully, gone to their classes and activities. Telling the dramatic story of the fight against Tartarus' ghosts turned out to be not such a great move, as it had encouraged the Hermes kids to ask as many questions they could possibly think of. You might imagine that the poster children for ADHD wouldn't be able to think up many questions, but that really isn't the case. My throat was still sore.

Anyway, I had another half-hour until it was time to head to the Big House. I didn't have anything else to do, so I was using that time to get my head in order. If there was one thing I'd learned from my experiences in the Underworld, it was the need for mental calm before going into action.

I'd developed a habit, particularly in the last year or two, of picturing the process of setting up a chessboard as I cleared my mind. All my thoughts, questions, doubts and fears were just pieces on the board. It was easy to focus too much on one or two of them, easy to become fixated on a particular issue, but when I set everything out on the board of my mind, things became much clearer.

There was always the chance that I was _over_-preparing, of course. We were only going to the Library of Olympus - it wasn't like we were going on a trip into the pit of Tartarus itself. We were going to go there, get the ritual, and leave. Simple.

Then why did I feel uneasy?

I started going through my pockets. I kept a lot of random things in here, so much so that whenever I was buying jeans, I had to make sure the pockets were awfully deep.

I had my cellphone, which didn't get much use when I was at camp. Only a few demigods had phones: Annabeth had told me that up until a couple years ago, it was too dangerous for half-bloods to have them, because monsters could somehow track the devices if they made a call. More recently, Hephaestus and Athena kids had found a way to make secure phones which couldn't be picked up by any nasties, but most half-bloods were still in the habit of avoiding cellphones.

I put my pens to one side, and sorted through the scraps of paper I always kept handy. Surprisingly, I didn't get many opportunities to use them when I was running around in the world of living legends. Still, you never know when you might need to write something down.

Then there was the old silver dollar Anna Fields had given me the previous summer, not long before I'd left for the Underworld. I'd never used it down there: Tartarus didn't really seem like the kind of guy you could pawn off with a bit of shiny metal. I didn't really have any reason to keep it, but something told me to hold onto it. I guess it would come in handy if I ran into a werewolf or something.

Finally, I came to the two items I'd picked up in the Fields of Silence.

First, there was the piece of labradorite that the spirit of self-knowledge, Amichanos, had given to me. It was such a small, innocuous little thing (like Ami herself, really), but it was unbelievably helpful. I didn't understand how or why it worked, but this small fragment of stone somehow made me calmer and more focussed whenever I held it in my hand. Most usefully, it helped to clarify and steady any use of my pure sight. It often felt like the stone was linking me to the stable power of the spirit herself.

I put that to one side, and paused, staring into space.

There was just one thing left to take out, and it was buried at the bottom of my pocket. It was something which I'd told no-one about - not my parents, not Jane, not even Alice, who'd been there at the Edge of the West when Nico had entrusted it to me.

I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what it meant. I often thought about opening it, but I could never bring myself to do more than hold it. Every time I looked at it, I thought of Nico di Angelo's final instruction.

_"__You need to keep this safe. Promise me. Promise me that you'll never let anyone touch it, or open it, or even see it."_

With those words resounding in my mind, I withdrew the small, grey tin from my pocket.

It was a nondescript object, about the size of a pill box. It was made of two halves that were joined by a brittle-looking hinge. It bore no engravings or inscriptions, and was dulled with age. It was not thick or tall - it was just about big enough to contain my silver dollar.

Far, far more remarkable was its aura. Hardly any inanimate objects have auras, but this had one that rivalled that of a half-blood. It was pitch-black, so dark that it was a shade away from blue. It swathed the entire metal box like a lost storm-cloud, and it seemed to ever-so-slightly depress the space around it. Like the aura of a god, this dark halo bent reality around it, just a little, so that it did not seem to be truly of this world.

I turned it over and over in my hand. Apart from its aura, there was nothing remarkable about this little tin, with neither distinctive weight nor cliched magical hum. It always seemed a little colder than it should be, but outside of that, I couldn't see why or how it was important. To anyone without super-active sight, it would probably seem like a meaningless trinket.

There was always the possibility that it _wasn't_ important, of course. That would be Nico all over, giving someone a bit of random junk and making them think it was a magic box which could save the world. Even now, his ghost could be watching me, laughing at his final joke.

His ghost.

The tin slipped from between my fingers, onto the bed, and I put my head in my hands.

Even I tried to avoid putting it in such stark terms, but that was the reality: Nico was probably dead. Even if Tartarus hadn't killed him instantly, it seemed incredibly unlikely that the son of Chaos would have kept the son of Hades alive for long, considering the insult Nico had paid him by helping Alice and me escape.

It wasn't simply Nico's quick, unstoppable death that troubled me. What scared me was how it could happen to any of us. Nico was one of the strongest half-bloods, probably second only to Percy. If he was such a pushover for Tartarus, what chance did I have? Me, a mortal who had nothing to set him apart from any other, except for a gift of pure sight which he could use to see through illusions, but not to overcome them.

What difference could I possibly make in a battle against such a powerful and remorseless being? It seemed as futile as fighting the wind. Surely I was fooling myself by thinking otherwise.

I tried to calm my mind. I'd thought about this many times, but I always got too caught up in my emotion. For once, I attempted to be more rational. If a person doesn't know what to do, I asked myself, what's the next step? When there's no solid ground before you, where do you walk?

The answer came to me softly and easily, as though it had been waiting for me to look for it.

All I had to do was seek out more information. To know my purpose, I had to know the full details of my situation.

I had to read the _prontos profiteia_ itself. Since that was apparently the prophecy which set out my fate and the fate of Olympus, it was safe to say that it was a pretty important detail. I had to read it myself - maybe then I would understand things.

How the hell I would actually _do_ that was another question entirely.

* * *

I got to the Big House a couple minutes late, having gotten delayed with my brooding. Annabeth and Jane were already there, along with Percy and Clarisse. The four of them stood around on the porch, talking quietly.

As I walked over, I reflected on the very deep difference between them and me. They were _comfortable_ with this: fighting, planning, defending. That was their world, it was part of who they were. Me, on the other hand? I could just about use a knife.

Still, I thought, as I neared the porch steps, if everyone was a hero there'd be nothing to fight over.

"Hi, Cyrus," Annabeth said. She sat next to Jane on the porch seat.

"Hey," I nodded, glancing briefly at each half-blood as they all turned to look at and say hello to me. Jane still bore a slight expression of confusion, as though she'd been told she was actually a daughter of Apollo. Clarisse and Percy both seemed a little disappointed, as though they were unhappy not to be the ones going out into the field.

"Is Chiron here yet?" I asked, moving to lean against the porch railing.

"Not yet," Annabeth said, glancing at the front door of the farmhouse with a frown. "At least, I didn't see him come in."

"Hmm," I nodded vaguely. "So how are we getting into New York?"

"Argus'll drive you," Percy supplied helpfully. He stepped over to stand next to me. "He'll take you right to the doors of the Empire State Building."

"Great," I said drily. "Always wanted to go there. I hear it's a great place to visit this time of year."

We stood around for a while, waiting for the centaur to emerge to send us forth into the world. Percy and Clarisse talked a little, their conversation laden with in-jokes and references to events which only they understood. The most bizarre such reference was when Percy mentioned something about an exploding toilet and Clarisse gave a glare so dark, I thought she was going to literally stick the son of Poseidon's head through the wall.

I drummed my fingers on the porch railing, feeling a little irritated. If Chiron was sending us off on such an important mission, surely he'd have the decency to turn up on time.

As if reading my mind, Annabeth said suddenly, "It's not like Chiron to be so late. This is odd."

She exchanged slightly worried glances with Percy, Jane and I exchanged slightly confused glances, while Clarisse exchanged antagonistic glances with the wall.

"Maybe he's in his office or something," I suggested. "He could have lost track of the time. One of us could go check." I paused for a brief moment to see if anyone would volunteer, then said, "I'll go."

Without waiting for discussion, I marched through the door of the Big House.

I stopped in the hallway, letting the door fall shut behind me. At first it seemed to be quiet, but then the uneven, undulating sounds of people talking started to emerge from the silence. I strained my ears, trying to listen in. It sounded like two voices, and certainly one of them was Chiron. The other sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it…

Then Chiron's voice rose, quite abruptly, as though he'd lost patience with the other speaker.

"For Zeus' sake, Xavier, listen to _sense_."

Xavier. That had to be Xavier Graecus, the high priest of the Rheans. I hadn't known he was at camp, though he tended to come and go without too much notice. I edged a few steps forward, quietly.

"You don't understand, Chiron," Xavier's low, deep voice - also raised in anger - replied. "This goes deeper than you realise."

Behind me, I heard Percy's voice, suddenly growing nearer.

"—go check," he said as he pushed open the door. I whirled around and leapt across the floor towards him, pressing one finger urgently to my lips. His green eyes widened, but he said nothing, and stepped into the hall silently, easing the door shut.

"What is it?" he whispered, staring at me in alarm. One hand went into his pocket, no doubt for Riptide.

"Shh," I hissed, pointing with one finger towards the ceiling. "Don't move. Listen."

"I think it is you who does not have all the facts, Xavier," Chiron said, his tone now growing cold. It was strange to hear him so angry. There was a slight shifting noise, as though the centaur was moving across the room. "You do not appreciate the danger this ritual presents."

Percy's eyes widened, and he started to speak, but I motioned frantically for silence. He put a hand over his mouth, nodding apologetically.

"The ritual presents no danger," came Xavier's voice, much colder than the centaur's. "Only misuse can make it a weapon."

There was a pause. Perhaps the two of them were staring at each, trying to see which one was telling the full truth.

"You really believe that," I heard Chiron say finally. "You do. But you're wrong."

"_No_," was Xavier's reply. He sounded a little muffled, as though he was talking through clenched teeth. "You need to stop what you're doing, and you need to surrender the ritual to me. Only I and my fellow followers of Rhea can use it correctly."

There was a hint of a laugh in Chiron's voice when he said, "You can't be serious, Xavier. Surely you understand that this is impossible. A decoy of the ritual is our only chance."

"You have no _chance_," Xavier replied scornfully. "All anyone can hope to do is delay the Pit King's rise, and you do not have the knowledge to do even that."

There was another moment of silence, during which Percy and I stared at each other in total bewilderment. This conversation made no sense at all.

"I'm not giving you the ritual, Xavier," Chiron said, more quietly, almost regretfully. "I can't."

Another pause, but I could feel something building in the silence, a tension growing in the exchange.

"Very well," Xavier said, his voice growing louder, his tone growing darker. "You follow your orders, centaur, follow them as you have always done. I know you are wise, and I know that you have seen much, but this time your judgement is poor. The path you choose will lead only to disaster, I know it, and I am offering you a way out."

Chiron said nothing. I could well imagine the steely glare he was giving the Rhean priest. The centaur wasn't one to easily change his mind.

"I see," Xavier growled. "You have chosen your path. Do not seek my help when you fail."

The sharp, swift sound of sudden movement broke the surface of quiet that had enveloped the farmhouse. I looked at Percy with alarm, and he moved to open the door, but Xavier was already charging down the stairs. I turned towards him, half-expecting him to attack us or strike us down with a curse.

The Rhean priest seemed not to even notice us, however, but merely swept down the hall imperiously. The hem of his long robe fluttered around his feet, and his steely grey aura was whirling around him like a tornado. He walked with great purpose and authority, and his angry gaze lent him even more gravitas. Instinctively, Percy and I stepped out of his way, and he strode out the door and down the porch with neither a backwards nor sideways glance.

The others stared at him with unease and confusion as he stormed off towards Half-Blood Hill, but my attention was distracted by more sounds coming from behind. A moment later, Chiron trotted down the stairs, his expression deeply troubled. When he reached the hallway, he glanced up to see Percy and me watching him warily.

Chiron sighed, and tried to smile.

"Nothing is ever easy around here, is it?" he said ruefully.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

_Below me was Manhattan, from the height of an aeroplane. In front of me, white marble steps wound up the spine of a cloud, into the sky. My eyes followed the stairway to its end, where my brain just could not accept what I saw._

_Look again, my brain said._

_We're looking, my eyes insisted. It's really there._

–Rick Riordan, 'Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief'

* * *

Things were starting to get a bit predictable. For the second time in a week, I was heading for the Empire State Building.

Annabeth, Jane and I were on the camp's minibus, being driven into New York City by the many-eyed head of security, Argus. I couldn't help thinking that it was pretty energy-inefficient to have a whole minibus just for us three, but I didn't dare say this to our driver. There was something about the guy that made it incredibly difficult to argue with him, though I couldn't say exactly what…

We'd left camp only a few minutes after Xavier Graecus had stormed out of the Big House. I had no idea where he'd actually gone: he'd just strode over Half-Blood Hill and vanished from sight. Maybe those Rheans dudes had their own arcane means of transport.

Unsurprisingly, Chiron hadn't been exactly handing out the details of the argument with Xavier. He'd offhandedly murmured something about having difficulty working out a new peace agreement, before quickly hurrying us out of camp. Percy and I had exchanged meaningfully puzzled stares while saying goodbye to one another, and Annabeth had watched Chiron carefully as the bus pulled out and drove off.

With a lack of information, then, it naturally fell to the three of us to discuss the curious case of the Rhean and the ritual.

"But what could Chiron be getting wrong about it?" Jane asked, not for the first time. She sat next to me. "He's _Chiron_. He knows, like, _everything_."

"No-one knows everything," Annabeth said immediately, shaking her head. She sat in the seat in front of us. "Not even the gods, not even the primordial entities."

"And certainly not Xavier," I pointed out, glancing out the window. I'd managed to get the window side of the seat before Jane could claim it. "I'm hardly going to put more faith in him than in Chiron."

The bus rocked a little, shaking us from side to side in our seats. We were close to the edge of New York City, but the roads were still bumpy. The distinctive skyline of the metropolis was coming into view in the near distance.

"Anyway, what do you think he'll do now?" Jane asked, looking from me to Annabeth, and back again. "Xavier, I mean."

"What _can_ he do?" the daughter of Athena shrugged, as she took out her knife and began cleaning it. "They're not going to allow him into Olympus Library. He'll have to go back to Rhea and hope she doesn't incinerate him."

That cheerful thought put a bit of a pause on the conversation.

I stared out the window, looking at the sky. It was a bright, clear day, with nothing to be seen in the blue expanse other than the lingering white-grey chalk marks of jet trails. The sun's warm light seemed to fill everything, making the blue clearer, making the very air seem purer. The snow was starting to thaw, and though it was still very cold, it seemed as if the world was having an early spring. It was easy, looking upwards, to think that there was no such thing as darkness.

But I remembered, as I looked away, that with all light there comes a darkness. After all, everything casts a shadow.

Annabeth had paused in her knife-cleaning. She sat frowning, chewing the nails of one hand.

"What is it?" I asked her.

"Oh," she looked over her shoulder at me with an unsure gaze. "I'm just thinking… what if Chiron _is_ wrong? What then? He could be. We don't know without any doubt, do we?""

"Um…" I said slowly, glancing sidelong at Jane, who was looking frustrated at these complications. The daughter of Nyx didn't really do lack of clarity or shades of grey. "I can tell you're thinking positively."

"But it's true," Annabeth said darkly, rubbing her brow. "Mistakes can be made. No-one gets everything right."

Jane and I exchanged uncertain glances.

"You're right," the daughter of Nyx said, shrugging. "But it's pointless thinking like that. Everyone gets stuff wrong, so the best thing we can do is listen to the people who generally get it right. I think that's all anyone can do."

Annabeth nodded, looking a little - but not fully - reassured. She went back to polishing her already-shining blade.

Our surroundings had been growing increasingly cosmopolitan for the last half-hour, and now the buildings seemed to be leaping higher and higher into the sky as we neared Manhattan. A sense of contentment crept into me as we came towards the bridge. I liked the quiet scenery of places like Camp Half-Blood, but at heart I was a NYC kid. Many people found the skyscrapers, the cars and the shops too cold, too concretised, but to me it was as homely as a roaring fire.

Though maybe it wasn't so much the place as the people in it.

As the bus crept over the bridge - slowed by the ever-present traffic - Annabeth turned to me, rather suddenly, as though she'd just remembered something.

"When we get onto Olympus," she said, looking at me steadily, "don't talk too much."

"What do you mean?" I said, frowning back at her.

"You know," she answered, tilting her head. "You tend to talk a lot at bad moments. That's okay at camp, when Mr. D can't do anything worse than turn you into a dolphin—"

"Because that's so much fun," Jane muttered.

"—but here on Olympus, the gods won't permit any insult," Annabeth ploughed on. "Some of them aren't too harsh, but if you look at the wrong god the wrong way, you'll be lucky if you end up as a pile of dust. You're a mortal, too, so they don't have to worry about getting a godly parent mad."

"Um," I said, feeling more than a little alarmed. It was bad enough having evil lunatics to fight, but worrying about upsetting our "allies" just seemed ridiculous. "Okay. I'll try not to make anyone kill me."

I didn't look at Jane, but I could hear her making a poor attempt to hold back her laughter. Annabeth quirked an eyebrow, but maintained her solemn, child-of-Athena poise.

"You'd better," she said, turning away. "I hate dusting."

* * *

It took more time to travel the short distance between the bridge and the Empire State Building than it had to get all the way from camp to New York City. I amend what I said: New York is great, so long as you don't get stuck in traffic.

We disembarked at the bottom of Fifth Avenue. Argus beeped his horn in what was probably meant to be an encouraging fashion, before vanishing back into the grinding morass of city traffic. Annabeth's doom-laden warning was still bouncing around my head like a beach-ball-shaped gravestone, so I couldn't help feeling rather forsaken as I watched the back of the bus slip away.

We made our way down the street. I wondered, as we went along, if any of the mortals had even wondered why there'd been roadblocks up on Fifth Avenue the other day. It seemed unlikely, considering how single-mindedly self-obsessed most people tend to be.

The doors of the Empire State Building didn't _look_ like they'd had a demigod thrown through them. Presumably the half-bloods had patched things up, because there was no way that the mortals would have fixed the damage that fast.

I realised that I'd started thinking of normal people as "mortals", the way demigods thought of me as mortal. I laughed out loud.

"What is it?" Jane asked, looking around us with apprehension.

"Oh, nothing," I muttered. "It's just funny how times change."

Annabeth took the lead as we neared the doors, walking a few steps ahead. She was the first in, leading us across the lobby with an air of confident familiarity. Jane and I followed, a little uncertainly. I knew that Olympus was somehow on top of the Building, but I had only a vague idea of how we actually got up there. I just prayed that it didn't involve climbing up the side of the building or something.

"We go up in the elevators, right?" Jane said to me, gesturing at the elevator doors where Kevin and I had made our last stand against the spectres.

"Uh, yeah, I think so," I nodded. Those doors were now surrounded by camera- and pamphlet-laden tourists. I wondered if we'd be bringing them up to Olympus, too. We'd certainly cause some confusion - somehow, I didn't think "Olympus: Home Of The Gods" was in the brochure or on the tourist trail.

(Can you imagine what would happen if the travel agencies found out about the gods being real? Overnight, Olympus would be overrun with gloriously unimpressed Europeans, loudly amazed Californians and scientifically intrigued Chinese.)

Annabeth headed for the main desk, where a bored-looking man was answering the pedantic questions of tourists with an air of resigned irritation that seemed to be as much a part of the job as his uniform. He seemed to know exactly what the tourists were going to ask long before they had even conceived the questions in their own minds. Sometimes he offered the answer a moment before the tourists were ready to ask for it, which usually led to confusion, which caused the tourists to revert to the start of their daisy-chain of queries.

Eventually, the tourists were satisfied that they were, in fact, standing in the Empire State Building, and they trooped off towards the elevators, as serious and as carefully organised as an Arctic expedition. The three of us approached the desk, with Annabeth a couple of steps in front.

"Hi," she said, as the man took up a book from the inside of the desk and searched for his place in it. "We're looking to go to the six-hundredth floor."

"There's no six-hundre—" he started to say automatically, before glancing up. He stopped, and his expression shifted a little as he recognised Annabeth.

"Ah," he said, putting the book down and opening a drawer in the desk. "How are you today, Ms. Chase?"

Jane and I exchanged amused glances. I wondered how many times the daughter of Athena had been through here.

"I'm good," Annabeth nodded, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no tourists were eavesdropping. "We're on our way to Olympus Library."

The man paused in surprise, just for a nanosecond, before nodding, as though it was only to be expected that Annabeth was visiting the top-secret ancient library of the gods. Then, he withdrew a small, nondescript key-card from the drawer, and handed it to Annabeth.

"There you are," he said, already going back to his book. "Have a good day."

"Thank you," Annabeth replied, expertly flicking the card from finger to finger. She led us over to the only elevator door by which no-one lingering expectantly, and pressed the button.

As we waited for the elevator to come down, Jane said quietly, "Not exactly the most sophisticated security system, is it? He just let you right through."

"Oh, he knows me," Annabeth said, looking amused. "I've been here a lot."

For the first time, it struck me how relaxed the daughter of Athena was about visiting the home of the gods. I knew she was an experienced half-blood, but surely even she would feel a little nervous about this? Just how many times _had_ she been here?

With a ping, the doors slid open. The elevator was mercifully empty, and we stepped in. Annabeth waited for the doors to close before sliding the key-card into a almost-unnoticeable slot at the bottom of the control panel. Jane and I watched eagerly as the card melted into thin air, and a red button faded into view on the console, just above the slot. The number _600_ was emblazoned on the button in spindly golden writing. Annabeth pressed it.

"We got a little lucky today," Annabeth informed us, as the elevator began to move upwards. "I remember one time, it took five trips up and down before the elevator was empty. It was torture. Tour groups were getting in and out constantly. If I heard the word _wow_ one more time, I was going to take everyone up to Olympus and just throw them off."

Muzak played dimly. It served to emphasise the complete lack of drama in our journey so far. When I thought of Mount Olympus, I pictured trekking up a vast mountain, facing trials of strength and will, overcoming terrifying obstacles and bypassing legendary guardians. This, on the other hand, felt like I was paying a visit to a paranoid banker.

As though she was reading my mind, Jane said suddenly, "It's not much, is it? I mean, it's pretty understated, by the gods' standards."

We both looked at Annabeth, who was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. She didn't meet our inquisitive gazes, but raised her eyebrows knowingly, and murmured, "Say that again in a few minutes."

Jane scratched her head at this, looking confused. For the first time since we'd left camp, I began to feel a little excited: perhaps our mundane journey had a rather more spectacular endpoint.

The moment I thought that, the elevator stopped abruptly. My stomach had barely enough time to settle back into place when the doors swept open with an almost gratuitous _swoosh_.

It took a long moment for my eyes to adjust, for my mind to begin to process what I was seeing, and for my mouth to catch up with everything, and even then all I could muster was, "Woah,"

Annabeth stepped out of the elevator, her arms still folded, her expression supremely nonchalant. Jane and I stumbled out after her, disorientated.

"Yeah," the daughter of Athena said, sounding amused. "_Woah_ pretty much covers it."

We were standing on a narrow walkway made from purest white stone, and it was literally floating in mid-air. The roofs and spires of New York were impossibly far below us, and none of the sounds of the city could be heard. A series of marble steps snaked onwards and upwards into the air ahead of us, making a literal stairway in the sky.

That was pretty astounding all by itself, but what rose up at the end of the stairway made our little floating walkway seem hopelessly unimaginative.

The whole top of a _mountain_ was floating in the air, with no visible support, at the end of the marble steps. It was clearly just a mountain_top_, but it looked massive enough to be called a mountain by itself. Its sides were adorned by countless palaces, churches, monuments and shrines. Many of them were huge structures, constructed with great detail, but they were made to seem as tiny as toy houses by the vastness of Mount Olympus itself. Beneath the huge mount, empty space stretched outwards and downwards, but the seat of the gods seemed entirely unconcerned with the petty suggestions of gravity.

It wasn't simply the mountaintop that was impressive - it was the sheer amount of _stuff_ covering it, Roads snaked around and up the slopes. Some areas of buildings looked a little disordered, as though they'd been constructed without any specific plan, but other, larger sections looked orderly and methodically-arranged. The largest palace of all stood at the summit, glittering in the sunlight like a white jewel. I didn't need to know much about Greek mythology to guess that that was the throne room of the Olympians themselves.

"It's unbelievable," I breathed, finally regaining coherency.

"Incredible," Jane murmured, sounding totally overwhelmed.

"Well, thank you," Annabeth said cheerfully.

We both looked at her in confusion.

"What?" she said, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't anyone tell you? I designed it - well, most of it. Come on."

She began striding up the marble steps, and the two of us gaped after her for a moment, before realising that it would be a good idea to follow.

"I thought the whole "Annabeth Chase: Architect of Olympus" thing was just a myth," Jane muttered to me, her dark eyebrows crumpled as we began scurrying up the physics-denying staircase.

"Me, too," I said, shaking my head. "Then again, Olympus is meant to be a myth, too. I'm beginning to think that pretty much everything is up for grabs."

Annabeth walked up the sky-staircase with confidence, but Jane and I were rather less carefree. I don't have any particular fear of heights, but there's something about being able to see most of New York City stretched out beneath you that encourages caution and discourages speed. The walkway was wide enough, sure, but it's amazing the way a marble block about half the size of a tennis court can seem really tiny when you're floating above airplane height.

As a result, Annabeth reached the end of the stairs far sooner than us. She stood looking back at us with faint amusement.

"Come on!" she called, waving her hands at us to hurry up. "You'll be fine, and anyway, even if you _do_ fall, you won't die!"

"Oh really?" Jane called back, woefully unconvinced. She was a few metres behind me, because she took a brief pause every few steps to assure herself that she hadn't plunged to her death.

"Yeah," Annabeth shouted reassuringly, putting her hands on her hips. "Anyone who falls from these steps will fall forever. It's part of Olympus' security system."

"Why does that make me feel _worse_?" Jane muttered to me darkly.

I glanced uneasily down into the beyond. I couldn't _see_ anything falling through the air below us, but then maybe it was enchanted. Who knew, perhaps there was countless things and people falling through the abyss beneath that bridge, all of them contained in little pocket dimensions, not one of them aware of the other.

I have such a morbid imagination.

"Does that mean," I asked, as we finally reached Annabeth, who was tapping her foot impatiently, "that if you fall there, you could be saved? Could someone get to you and bring you back?"

She frowned, and cast a doubtful glance downwards, considering my question as Jane caught up with us.

"It's certainly possible," she said finally, turning away from the edge, "but I don't think it's ever been done."

The sky-staircase ended at a wide, paved road, which wound its way upwards, in between palaces and shrines. It went right up Olympus, ending only at the throne room, and many smaller roads and avenues branched off along the way. Those breakaway streets then had tributary paths of their own. All in all, the place seemed like one hell of a labyrinth.

"So how are we going to find our way to the Library?" I asked Annabeth, who was chewing her thumbnail with an air of uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"Er," she muttered, her grey eyes flicking from building to building. "We have to get to my mother's workshop. The only problem is…"

She trailed off, and with a sinking feeling I realised that for once, the daughter of Athena didn't know something important.

"How can you not know where your own mother's workshop is?" Jane asked, throwing up her hands exasperatedly. "It's not like you're unfamiliar with the place."

"It's a long story," Annabeth said evasively, turning around on the spot and craning her neck, as though that would make a magical, glowing signpost materialise. "There was an accident, my mother had to move her workshop, and I never actually found out where she put it."

"Wow," Jane said, shaking her head. "What happened?"

Annabeth replied in a mutter, so I couldn't quite hear what she said, but I did catch the words _accident_,_ badly-trained construction spirit_, and _broken roof_.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" I asked, as Jane sighed darkly and Annabeth got increasingly uncomfortable-looking.

"We need a guide," the daughter of Athena replied, after a moment of thought and glaring around. "But who could—?"

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," a clear, quiet female voice said suddenly, from further up the street.

We all looked around in surprise. On either side of the road, there were a number of imposing shrines to various Olympians, but there wasn't a soul in sight. The speaker couldn't be seen - unless, you know, one of the walls had started talking.

(Which, by this stage, wouldn't really have surprised me.)

Then, a figure stepped out from the doorway of a smaller white building, on our left. It was the third shrine down from where we stood, but I hadn't noticed it until now because it was four or five storeys shorter than the structures that surrounded it.

The figure stepped down onto the road, and moved towards us. Immediately I could see that she was a goddess - the space-bending aura which surrounded her made that pretty darn clear. She appeared to be a ten- or eleven-year-old girl, but you didn't have to see her aura to realise she was no ordinary mortal child: you only had to look at her eyes.

Or rather, the warm, bright flames that flickered in place of her eyes.

My mouth dropped open slowly, and I heard Jane take in a long, startled breath. Trying not to openly stare, I looked closer, letting my pure sight kick in. It should have been a very disconcerting sight, but the flames that took the place of this goddess's eyes were not as disturbing as you'd expect. As I looked at her fire-eyes, a sense of reassurance washed over me, a sense of safety so strong that I almost felt like I already knew this goddess personally. Her red-gold aura helped, too - it was calm and full of warm, softly moving energy, flowing over and around her, emphatically present but not aggressively so.

I realised that while I'd been staring, Annabeth and Jane had bowed their heads. After a moment of hesitation, I did the same. The goddess that looked like a child came to a halt a couple of steps away, surveying us. Annabeth murmured something, probably the name of this strange creature, but I didn't quite catch it.

"It's always good to see you, Annabeth," she said, her voice as reassuring as a hot dinner on a winter's night. "I know why you're here. Athena sent me to meet you."

I'd raised my head as she'd been talking, feeling strangely compelled to consider this goddess further. She looked at me directly now, her flame-eyes making her expression hard to read.

"Excuse me," I said quietly. "But… who are you?"

"I am an Olympian of whom you won't have heard much," she replied, with an easy smile. "I am called many things: the hearth, the fireside, the virgin, the last Olympian, but you, Cyrus Wright, shall call me Hestia."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

_"I know who Thor is. I met him at a party once."_

–Eoin Colfer, 'And Another Thing'

* * *

Hestia led us through the maze of godly edifices that covered Olympus like an architectural rash. The place had more abnormally white marble, obscenely ornate architecture, narcissistically detailed sculptures and gratuitously imposing porticos than probably all the museums in the world put together. It was almost certainly the largest collection of pointlessly overdramatic cultural objects and buildings in existence.

It was a miracle that they'd managed to keep the tourists away.

It was very impressive, but it all seemed unnecessary. I couldn't understand the point of having massive shrines and temples dedicated to all these gods if there was no-one around who'd bother to pop in for a bit of worshipping. There was some people on Olympus, but all of them seemed to be minor gods or spirits. It seemed pretty unlikely that they'd be worshipping anyone except themselves, so all the temples surely had less footfall than a liquor store in Vatican City.

Annabeth informed me, however, that it was all symbolic.

"It's not about the shrines being used," she explained, as we passed a particularly ostentatious statue of an impossibly muscular man wielding what looked suspiciously like a sheaf of wheat. "Olympus is the very centre of Greek mythology, so any being with even a drop of ichor in their veins will want to have a temple here. Having a dedicated building isn't an incidental detail, it's a representation of status."

I understood that, even if it still sounded awfully narcissistic and superficial.

Jane did not seem to be as impressed by the grandeur as I was. Her expression grew increasingly sour as we progressed along, as though the bright whiteness of the place was a personal offence to her Nyxian sensibilities.

"What do you think of it all?" I asked her quietly, after we had turned off the central road.

"I don't know. It just seems like too _much_," was her reply.

Hestia walked a few steps ahead of the three of us, not talking much. Every now and then I'd draw level with her, and glance at her, eagerly but cautiously. There was something about her that drew me in a little, but I couldn't tell why. Compared to other Olympians I'd seen, there was nothing about her which was especially intriguing or imposing. There was her powerful aura, true, but I'd seen a far more dramatic aura around Hades.

Finally, I concluded that it was just down to the air of pure reassurance that emanated from the goddess. Hestia seemed deeply accepting, as though there was nobody who she would not welcome if they came in good faith.

The temples began to grow smaller as Hestia led us down narrower roads. The shrines along the main roads were dedicated to the major gods, but here they were mainly for minor deities. A larger building towered at the end of the street, and I expected Hestia to lead us there, but she turned down an alleyway which I hadn't even noticed. The path ran between two buildings, ending at a polished steel door set into a stone wall.

"She really hates visitors," Annabeth murmured, as we drew near to the door.

"What's that?" Hestia asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"I was thinking," Annabeth said, more loudly, "that my mother really must hate visitors to put her workshop so far out of the way."

Hestia laughed. "She put it here because Apollo learned that mortal song… oh, what was it called? Gangnam Style. He kept appearing at her old workshop in the strangest outfits, performing a completely bizarre dance, so she had no choice but to move."

I shook my head. The Olympians were obviously as childish as the legends suggested.

Hestia knocked lightly upon the steel door. The metal rang with a strangely high note - almost like a bell ringing. The light reflecting off the polished surface seemed to dim a little.

"Athena couldn't decide if it's more functional for people to knock on the door or ring a doorbell," Hestia informed us, glancing over her shoulder again, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "She settled for both."

I looked at Annabeth out of the corner of my eye. That sure sounded like something she would do.

After a brief pause, the door swung open silently - by itself, naturally. No-one stood behind it, but I had a strong suspicion that Athena could see us anyway.

"Come," Hestia said, stepping inside. We followed her.

When Hestia had said "workshop", I'd expected a cosy little place, with a few desks, graphs, computer terminals, and other various intellectual accoutrements - maybe a few mythological trinkets thrown in to keep up the whole godly image thing.

Athena's workshop was like that, except multiplied by a thousand. The room itself was probably only a little longer than your average warehouse, and the architecture was very simple - it was essentially an extremely long corridor, no more than forty foot wide.

The amount of _stuff_ was the really impressive thing. The walls were plastered with enough papers and computers screens to supply NASA for the next twenty years. Countless desks, workstations and shelving units were lined up along the walls, which stretched out on either side. At first glance, everything seemed hopelessly disordered, but as I looked closer, I realised that everything was organised according to subject. All the screens displaying three-dimensional maps of Olympus and its surrounds, for instance, were clustered together in one area of the wall directly opposite from us.

"Well," Jane said disbelievingly, as we stepped further in, the door shutting behind us.

"There's so _much_," I murmured, staring around. "It must have taken centuries to gather all this."

"Oh, no," a cool voice said suddenly, to our right, "I threw it together a few years ago."

We all looked around.

I was a little disconcerted at first, because the goddess looked confusingly similar to Annabeth: same hair, same eyes, same build. The only immediate indications that I was looking at Athena, goddess of wisdom, were the powerful grey aura, and the intense gaze that put me in mind of an ancient owl.

She'd been sitting just behind the door at a small oak desk, hidden from view until the door had closed. The goddess stood up now, surveying us with mercilessly penetrating grey eyes.

"Hestia," Athena said, bowing her head at the elder goddess. "Thank you for bringing the visitors here. Could you wait a few moments? I will need you to escort the heroes to the Library itself."

"Certainly," Hestia nodded. She turned away, and strolled off down the workshop, glancing at various screens with interest. I eyed her for a moment, before turning back to Athena.

The goddess stood with her hands clasped behind her back, considering us silently. The three of us were standing in a line, just a few feet away from Athena, and I couldn't help feeling like I was being inspected by a celestial schoolmaster.

I considered Athena's aura as she surveyed us. Like the auras of all the gods, it seemed to exert a pressure on the space around her, as though the Olympian's mere presence made a dent in reality. Her aura was more monochrome than any other godly one I'd seen, but it somehow seemed more free-flowing. It swirled and eddied like an ocean, flowing about the goddess distractingly. Some auras have emotions closely attached to them, but all I felt when I looked at Athena's was a cool, calm sense of reason.

Finally, she spoke.

"Annabeth," she said, meeting her daughter's eyes. "You are here for the ritual?"

"Yes," Annabeth answered promptly - almost nervously. I looked from Athena to her daughter. The half-blood was not someone who generally looked doubtful, but right now she seemed unsure, as though she felt uncertain of her ability to answer any question that Athena might throw at her.

"This is your first visit to the Library, I believe?" the Olympian went on, her eyes flicking briefly to a screen behind us, before returning to Annabeth.

"That's right."

For the first time, Athena glanced at me directly. Her expression was a little doubtful, but not disdainful or distrustful. I kept very still as she examined me, and the time seemed to stretch out, before she turned her gaze to Jane. The daughter of Nyx was standing within a few inches of me, and I sensed her stiffen, though whether in unease or something else, I couldn't tell.

After another, longer moment, Athena nodded, and turned her back on us.

"You chose useful companions," she said, obviously to Annabeth, as she opened a drawer in the desk. "I'm quite certain that you will successfully recover the ritual."

Jane started to draw in breath, as though about to say something, but I looked at her sharply to discourage her. She stopped, and nodded at me apologetically.

"Thank you," Annabeth said carefully, sounding a little surprised. "Is there, um, anything you can do to help us obtain it?"

"Well, I hardly sent Hestia to herd you all here just so that I could have a nice chat about my latest architectural modelling system," Athena said, somehow managing to be both terse and humorous, as she turned back to us. In one hand she held what looked like a typical travel brochure. She offered it to Annabeth, who stepped forward cautiously, but curiously, to take it.

Annabeth held it up so that Jane and I could see it.

"Olympus Library: a collection of wonderful sights unlike anything ever previously seen by mortal eyes," Jane read aloud, in a doubtful tone. Forgetting to pretend to be respectful, she glanced up at Athena and asked, "Since when does the Library that no-one ever visits have its own _brochure_?"

Athena shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Jane's lack of decorum. "Everything of importance must be recorded," she said, folding her arms, "and everything is expressed in a suitable form. Since Olympus resides in America, information such as this is presented in a form suitable to this land. Travel brochures," she glanced at the leaflet, and wrinkled her nose a little, "are rather popular throughout the United States."

I was sorely tempted to say something like, _wow, are they really?,_ but I prefer to avoid incurring the wrath of a goddess who had probably figured out the easiest way to kill me about two seconds after laying eyes on me.

"In any case," Athena went on, frowning fiercely. (I got the feeling that she didn't really like being drawn off-topic.) "The Library has its own particular form of magic. You do not simply stroll in and use the Dewey Decimal System to find what you are looking for."

"Why?" Jane asked, arching one eyebrow. "Have you guys got something against doing things systematically or something?"

I winced. That probably wasn't the best thing to say to the goddess of _strategy_. Annabeth immediately started to say something placatory, but Athena cut her off with a raised hand.

"You make a valid point, Ms. Welles," she said, looking only a little annoyed. "However, the organisational system used in the Library was not designed, it is a product of the Library's very contents."

Jane and I stared at her blankly, but Annabeth nodded slowly, as if this made total sense.

"Of course," the demigod said. "So many powerful and symbolically important texts in one place will naturally create a unique location of magical anomalies. The energies shrouding each book, scroll and artefact will interact and combine to create certain unique arcane phenomena."

"Oh," I said, barely comprehending all that.

"I'll take your word for it," Jane muttered.

"You don't need to understand why it works this way," Athena said, checking her watch. Presumably, long expositions hadn't been scheduled for this appointment. "You just need to know how it works. The Library is empathetic. This means that it will naturally guide you to what you wish to obtain. You will inevitably find what you seek. However, if you do not specify, in your mind, the item you need to find, the Library will lead you to a section which pertains to whatever aimless thoughts happen to be at the forefront of your disorderly mortal subconsciouses."

I nodded, taking that in while ignoring the insult. It reminded me a lot of the Fields of Silence, and the way we'd been able to think our way to where we wanted to go.

(Well. Sort of.)

"I understand," Annabeth said, stuffing the brochure into her pocket. "Do I need to know anything else?"

"One other thing," Athena replied. She paused, rubbing her brow thoughtfully. I glanced up the workshop at Hestia: she was standing still, her hands buried deep in her jeans, as she stared pensively at what looked like a diagram of an overly sophisticated toasting fork.

"I need all three of you," Athena said, her tone turning a little sterner, "to remember that the Library is not your typical mortal archive. Many of the items in this place could destroy you if you so much as touch them. None of you, no matter how curious you are, should even _consider_ going near any item other than that which you seek."

"Sure," Annabeth said agreeably.

"Absolutely," I nodded. I'd been expecting this kind of warning ever since I'd first heard about the Library.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jane smiled, somewhat unconvincingly.

We all nodded earnestly at the goddess, before exchanging similarly earnest glances. We were probably all wondering how long it would take before one of us ended up breaking Athena's instruction.

"Good," she said. Her emphatically neutral tone made it clear that she found us as convincing as a politician's pre-election promise. "You'd better get moving."

She looked over our heads, and called, "Hestia! May I ask one more favour?"

The older goddess glanced up from an ancient-looking notebook, and nodded. She strolled back to us, still looking almost like a normal twelve-year-old.

I wondered, in this spare moment, what looking at gods was like for people who didn't have my pure sight. Being able to see auras made things easy for me because I always remembered exactly who (and what) I was talking to. Most people - even demigods - had no such luxury.

It occurred to me, too, that my sight meant I'd never be fooled by that old, reliable trick favoured by the gods in the myths: the old "pretend to be a normal human" con.

"Information on how to enter the Library is in the leaflet," Athena told her daughter, as the older goddess neared. "Hestia will take you there now."

I wondered why Athena wasn't taking us there herself. Surely, as goddess of wisdom, she would be eager to help us find something as obscure and important as the Ritual of the Pit? I looked at her closely, trying to read her expression. There was something in the Olympian's eyes, something I hadn't noticed before. It wasn't anger or fear, but some more subtle emotion. I glanced at Annabeth, who was eyeing Athena also.

Then I realised, with a sense of strange unease, that the goddess was not quite meeting her child's eyes.

"Where am I bringing the tour group now?" Hestia said drily, as she came to a stop in between us and Athena. "You know, maybe I ought to get a job at this."

"I need you to take them to Olympus Library," Athena replied, managing to look respectful even while looking down at Hestia, who was considerably shorter than the battle goddess. "You don't need to accompany them into the Library itself, of course."

Hestia nodded. "Certainly."

Athena turned, and opened her workshop door.

"Good luck to you," she said briskly, talking to us all without looking at anyone in particular. "Return here when you have obtained the ritual."

"Thank you," Annabeth replied, nodding respectfully. She stepped through the door, followed by Hestia. Jane went next, glancing uncertainly at Athena as she went, as though unsure of whether or not to speak. Finally, I moved to follow.

As I passed Athena, who was still holding the door, I glanced up at her for a tiny moment. For only the second time, our gazes met. I looked her in the eye for no more than the time it takes to blink, but that was time enough. I realised what that other subtle emotion was, the quiet flutter of feeling that hid beneath the goddess's emphatically cool aura of logic. It wasn't anger, or fear, or even pride.

It was doubt.

We headed back up the alleyway, but after only a second, Athena's voice came after us.

"Annabeth," she called, oddly urgent.

We paused, looking back. Annabeth turned around fully to look back at her mother.

"Yes?" she said, her eyebrows raised.

Athena peered out at us, looking strangely alone at the door of her workshop.

"Make sure," she said quietly, "that you remember to close the door."

And with that cryptic advice, she swung her own door shut.

* * *

Despite being a three-thousand-year-old mythological goddess who had probably seen enough of Olympus to be cosmically sick of it, Hestia derived great enjoyment from guiding the three of us to the Library.

"See there?" she said cheerfully, pointing at a defaced statue of Zeus. "Hera vandalised that when she heard about Zeus' last affair. She told him that every time he had a half-blood child, she'd wreck one of his statues here on Olympus. He hasn't sired a soul since."

Jane and I laughed, but Annabeth asked knowingly, "When did that happen?"

"Last week."

I didn't get a chance to tell Annabeth about that doubt I'd seen in her mother's eyes, because she spent most of the walk studying the Library brochure. Perhaps it was better that way - telling the leader of our little mission that the goddess of wisdom seemed uncertain of our course of action probably wouldn't help matters.

I did, however, tell Jane.

"What did you think of Athena?" I asked her, in a slightly hushed tone. The two of us were hanging back a little, while Hestia and Annabeth led the way.

"She's a lot like Annabeth, only older," Jane said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Very schoolmistress-ish."

"I thought she seemed a little odd," I said slowly. I didn't come right out with what I'd seen, because there was always the chance that I was wrong. If I was right, Jane would have surely picked up on Athena's uncertainty herself.

"There was definitely something off," the daughter of Nyx nodded, with unerring surety. "I was almost expecting her to tell us that we weren't allowed into the Library."

My heart sank a little at this. If the goddess of strategy really was uneasy about our plan, what hope did we have?

"I don't think Athena is happy with what we're doing," I said, more quietly. "Don't you think it's strange that she isn't coming with us?"

"She's probably just busy…" Jane said doubtfully.

A cluster of green-auraed nature spirits turned onto the road and came chattering towards us. We all stopped and stepped to one side to let them pass. Hestia waved to a few of them familiarly.

"Athena is an major_ deity_," I pointed out, as we moved on. "She sets her own schedule. If she wanted to come with us, she would. No, something's up. I don't know what, but I can guess."

"She doesn't want to associate herself with something she doesn't think will work," Jane said, after a thoughtful pause. She looked at me with alarmed dark eyes. "But what does that mean? What do we do?"

We walked on in silence. Hestia was still telling Annabeth pieces of trivia about various sculptures and buildings. The daughter of Athena was alternately nodding in interest and examining the leaflet. I stared at the back of her head with a sense of sinking worry.

Annabeth was not someone who changed her mind easily, but it didn't take much to see that she respected her mother's opinion. If I told her that Athena didn't seem to support what we were doing, she'd stop everything immediately.

But then, if Athena really _was_ against this mission, why didn't she say so? Olympians weren't exactly shrinking violets. I only had to look at every Greek legend _ever_ to see that the gods made their views known, without fail. If Athena hadn't told us to stop, it was no business of mine to do so.

I blinked, and realised that the other two had vanished around a corner.

"Come on," I told Jane, who was frowning darkly at a shrine across the street. "We'd better catch up."

We sped up, rounding the corner quickly and nearly running into Hestia and Annabeth, who'd stopped walking. I looked past them, and saw that we were standing outside a massive archway, in which there stood a huge, heavy wooden door.

"You guys don't do things _quietly_, do you?" Jane muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Hestia heard her, and glanced around.

"Everything that is great must be acknowledged," she told us, in a solemn tone, "and there are few things greater than this library."

I didn't know about the library, but its front door was pretty darn impressive. The archway was about fifteen feet high, and was comprised of three layers of interlocking stones. Each layer was different and as I looked closely, I realised that one layer was igneous, another was sedimentary, and the third was metamorphic. All three primary rock types were there, forming an imposingly solid structure.

The door, meanwhile, fit into the arch perfectly, and was hewn from some dark, powerful-looking wood. Countless symbols and letters were engraved upon its surface. Many were Greek, though not all. Some were simple inscriptions of single characters, while others were intricate, carefully carved images. Bronze hinges, glinting in the sunlight like metal insects, secured the door to the arch.

There was one thing, however, which was conspicuously missing.

"How the heck do we open it?" I asked confusedly.

The door bore neither handle nor knob by which to pull it open. It didn't even have a keyhole. Hell, if it wasn't for the hinges, I would have assumed that it was just a piece of decoratively carved wood.

Annabeth stepped towards it, tapping the brochure against her leg thoughtfully. Hestia said nothing, but simply watched with a knowing expression.

"I guess there's some magical way to open it," Jane said, sounding unimpressed. "What's wrong with a simple doorknob?"

Annabeth reached out towards one of the symbols on the door, but hesitated. She checked the leaflet again, carefully reading something on the back.

"It's a semiotic lock," she said, more to herself than us. "We open it by touching the right symbol. The only problem is, the symbol is different for each person."

"Huh?" Jane asked, glancing from Annabeth to Hestia with a comically puzzled expression.

Hestia took a step back, so that she was standing alongside Jane and me.

"It's not a matter of one symbol being the correct key," she explained, talking quietly. "The door opens only when you find the symbol that has the most meaning to you, personally. When you do so, the door's wards recognise that you are a person of thoughtfulness, and entry to the Library is permitted."

"A-ha!" Annabeth said triumphantly. More confidently than before, she reached out and tapped a small symbol which lay near the centre of the door.

The image, too small to see from where we stood, glowed gold for a second, shining encouragingly. Then, with a rumbling that almost sounded like an earthquake, the door began to swing inwards. The ground actually started to shake as it moved backwards, slowly opening a space by which to enter. Streams of golden light rippled down from the archway and across the symbols, in a mesmerising ethereal waterfall. The light dripped like water from symbol to symbol, illuminating each for an eye-blink long moment, before draining down and vanishing into the ground.

With a final, dramatic judder, the door swung to a halt. It was barely even halfway open, so we could not see into the library, but there was more than enough space for us to enter.

"I don't know," Jane said drily, breaking our awed silence. "I still think a doorknob would be better."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_"__Priceless, Skulduggery. Beyond priceless. The secrets they held, the histories they contained."_

_"__I'll be happy to pay for any damage caused."_

_"__You cannot pay for priceless books! that's why they call them priceless!"_

–Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant: The Faceless Ones'

* * *

Hestia left us just before we entered the Library.

"You don't need me beyond this point," she told us. "I will leave you to your task."

We each gave her our thanks. Hestia spoke briefly to Annabeth and Jane with a sort of neutral grace, but as she turned to me, her manner changed a little.

"I was very happy to meet you, Cyrus," she told me seriously. I met those flame-eyes, and tried to disguise my confusion. Hestia was showing me another side of her, now, but I didn't know why. She was talking in a much more personal way, as though I was someone who'd earned her respect.

(But I'd just met her?)

"It was an honour to meet you, He— Lady Hestia," I said, only barely remembering the etiquette of addressing gods. I paused, trying to think of something reasonable to say, and then simply added, "Thank you for your help."

I bowed my head, and when I looked up, the goddess was still looking at me. I was tempted to turn away out of politeness, but something told me to hold her gaze. The moment seemed to stretch, making it feel far longer than it was, as Hestia examined me. It was difficult to understand her expression, since she had no actual eyes to give away her thoughts, but I got the sense that she was searching for something.

Then, she turned away. I blinked at her back as she took a few steps away from us. Hestia paused only at the corner, looking around at us to say, simply, "Good luck."

Then, she was gone.

I glanced at Annabeth, hoping that she might have some explanation for Hestia's slightly odd behaviour, but the daughter of Athena was fully focussed on getting into the Library.

"Come on, guys," she said, moving forward and, without hesitation, stepping through the door.

I looked at Jane, who was staring down at her shoes.

"What is it?" I asked quietly.

She glanced up quickly, frowning.

"Oh, nothing," Jane muttered, shrugging. She stepped towards the door, but paused.

"It's just Hestia," she said, seemingly more to herself than to me. Her fingers brushed over the smooth, ornate wood of the dramatic library door. "I wonder why all the gods can't be like her."

Then, she stepped through, following Annabeth.

I didn't immediately follow them, but paused to take a breath. I turned slowly on the spot, taking in the fresh air, looking at the spectacle of chiselled grandeur which, to me, seemed to lessen rather than magnify the majesty of the gods. If they truly were so great and so powerful, I thought, why did they need to build so many monuments to themselves?

But as I turned back to the door, I realised that Jane was right: Hestia was different to the rest. She didn't need grandeur to make herself feel complete.

I couldn't help wondering, too, as I stepped through the door, why she'd felt the need to wish us luck. After all, it was only a trip to the library.

* * *

"Holy. Crap," I said, very slowly.

A mere trip to the library it was, but this wasn't exactly your typical mortal library.

There were a number of amazing things about Olympus Library, though some of them weren't too surprising, given the splendour we'd seen outside. There was the size, of course: the ceiling was at least as high as that of a cathedral, and even more ornate. It was engraved with spiralling designs and mosaics, which trailed towards and down the walls.

It was difficult to see much of those engravings, however, because of the bookshelves, which were almost as high as the ceiling. The tops of the towering shelves did not seem to actually touch the ceiling, but they were within a few inches of it.

Still, while this was impressive, it wasn't too surprising.

Light was provided by many, many floating candles and lanterns. It made me think of the Great Hall in _Harry Potter_, with a flickering light floating in mid-air, just above head-height, every few feet.

But I'd seen lights like this before, there'd been ones very similar in the throne room of Hades, Lord of the Dead.

So, the ceiling and the shelves were impressive but unsurprising, the light was your typical magical floating set-up, and the floor was just… a regular wooden floor. What made this place different to any other library?

Well, the stuff on the shelves might've helped.

I had only vaguely understood the things Athena had said about the power of the items held here. I'd thought she was just being overdramatic, as gods always are, or that she meant the _information_ contained in the Library's books and scrolls was where the power lay. Surely, I'd reasoned, the Library just contained a collection of ancient, fraying texts.

When I saw what the place _really_ held, I understood that Athena had not been exaggerating at _all_.

The shelves were packed with thousands upon thousands of items: ancient scrolls, great tomes, tiny pamphlets, sheafs of papyrus, loose folios, anything you could imagine. And every one of these things was not just one item, it was three, or four or more. Everything seemed to be partially formed from a sort of amorphous golden mist, which constantly contorted and shifted.

I looked at the item closest to me. Like the others, it was formed out of this golden fog, and its shape was endlessly shifting. One second it was a scroll wrapped onto a shining rod, the next it was a hardback volume with gilt edges, and then it was a long sheet of parchment folded up into a neat parcel, then it became a paperback book with a vague image shimmering on its cover, before once more becoming a scroll.

And every single artefact in the Library was doing this, incessantly shifting and switching, never one thing and always another.

"It's wonderful," murmured Annabeth, who stood a few steps down from me. She was transfixed, gazing around at the seemingly infinite knowledge with an expression of almost religious wonder.

"It's unbelievable," Jane whispered. She stood a step in front of me, and looked overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all. For once, her expressive face bore no gesticulation, but was relaxed in speechless admiration.

Like any good library, the shelving was broken up into rows by small gaps. Each row was at a right angle to the door, and every shelf was carefully aligned, so that nothing broke the continuous flow of the shelving system.

We were standing at the top of a row. I glanced left and right. On either side, I could see only column upon column, stretching off into the dimmer parts of the library. I looked ahead of us: the shelves seemed to stretch on for miles. Small, person-sized gaps marked the end of bookcases, every couple hundred feet or so.

"What _is_ all this?" Jane said in wonder, taking a few steps down our row.

"Quite a lot," Annabeth said drily. She shook her head in astonishment, then added, "Anything that relates in any way to the gods is here. Anything that is of interest to them. Plenty more besides."

"It's all so organised, though," I said quietly, rubbing my forehead as I looked about. "How do they keep it so… _tidy_?"

"How else?" Annabeth said over her shoulder. "Magic."

I could sure buy that one.

"But why are the books and stuff like… like _that_?" Jane asked, pointing warily at an item near her that was currently in the form of a clipboard.

"I'm not exactly sure," Annabeth replied, tapping one foot. "It's to do with how everything here is actually in the form of pure knowledge."

Almost automatically, I put my hand into my pocket, feeling for the labradorite which Amichanos, spirit of knowledge, had given me.

"You mean these things aren't really books and scrolls? They just _look_ like they are?" Jane said, eyeing the daughter of Athena doubtfully.

"Yes," she replied, with more surety. She flipped to a page in the library brochure, and considered it for a moment, before continuing, "Each item here is actually a piece of knowledge in its purest form. That's why everything is always changing. Every item only forms into something definite when it's taken off the shelf."

I thought about the implications of that.

"Maybe that's why Athena told us not to touch anything," I said, folding my arms. "What if some of the ideas in here aren't _meant_ to be put into a definite form?"

"What do you mean?" Jane asked, turning around to face me.

"Well, imagine the plans for building a terrible weapon are in here somewhere," I explained, waving one hand at the library in general. "You wouldn't want to put _that_ into solid form, would you? So the same applies to other, more abstract ideas. Maybe some of the knowledge isn't just being stored here: it's being hidden, or contained. There could be information in here that's potentially very harmful to the gods."

Jane nodded slowly. "I guess."

Annabeth considered that for a moment, then nodded approvingly.

"You're probably right," she said, stuffing the leaflet back in her pocket. "Anyway. We'd better get moving."

She started walking, and Jane and I followed. We walked quickly, matching Annabeth's stride.

As we moved down the aisle, I glanced again at the shelves, wondering how anyone could actually identify any of those pieces of knowledge. None of them seemed to be labelled in any way, so each shelf of blurry golden items looked much the same as the next. That didn't seem a great way to run a huge repository of arcane knowledge.

Then I noticed something on the front of the shelves. Just below each item, in the place where you might normally see a sticker bearing an author's name, there was a few blurry letters engraved in the wood.

I slowed a little as I tried to read the markings. They looked like a sort of caption, but they were too blurry to decipher. I couldn't even tell what language they were in. It was as likely that they were English as it was that they were Oghma, for all I could see.

Still, such letters were there underneath each item, providing a label that _someone_ could presumably read.

"What is it?" a voice beside me murmured, making me start.

(I'm awfully sensitive when I'm in one of my thinking-reveries.)

I glanced around. I'd actually stopped walking without even noticing. Jane was standing next to me. I got the impression she'd gone on and come back. Annabeth was further on, still walking.

"Look at that," I told her, pointing at the shelf in front of me. "There's some kind of caption underneath all the things here."

She looked at them, her dark eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher the blurry engraving.

"I see," Jane murmured. She glanced from shelf to shelf. "And… wow. They're everywhere. That's helpful, right?"

"I guess," I said doubtfully. "But a caption isn't much use if we can't read it."

"True."

We started walking again, moving faster now to catch up with Annabeth. We continued to keep an eye on the shelves, trying to find labels that we could read. I started to notice that some of the engravings were less blurry than others. One or two I could very nearly decipher, but somehow they were always just out of reach.

"Oh, look!" Jane said suddenly, stopping to point excitedly at a higher shelf, about ten feet above head height. I squinted up at it. To my eyes, the engraved legends there were as blurry as all the rest.

"I don't see anything," I said slowly, looking back at Jane blankly.

Jane glanced at me, then the shelf, then me again, both frowning and smiling a little.

"I can read some of them," she said. "They're all things to do with Nyx. _The History Of Nyx, An Exploration Of Night, The Midnight Hour_…"

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay. That's strange. Are they in Ancient Greek?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "They're all in English."

I literally and metaphorically scratched my head, and glanced up at Annabeth, who had paused up ahead.

"I don't know why that is," I said uncertainly. "It's odd. Um. Look, we'd better keep going. We'll probably figure it out."

We started off again, Jane a little reluctantly. I kept glancing at unclear captions, trying to read them, but nothing became sharp for me. Still, I had a feeling I would find a shelf, somewhere, with engravings that I could see. The interesting question was, what would those captions denote?

Jane walked along in deep consideration for a few moments. As we drew closer to Annabeth, though, she clapped her hands together suddenly.

"I know what it is!" she declared, with surety. "Remember what Athena told us, about always finding what you seek?"

"Yeah."

"The caption things must be a part of that," Jane said, her eyes wide with comprehension. She glanced around at the shelves for a moment, before adding, "You can only read them if they mean something to you. It makes it a lot simpler to find what you're looking for. You just need to look for the labels which you can read."

"_Ah_," I nodded, as I caught up with her thinking. "That makes a lot of sense."

And, I thought, it fitted in with my idea that some ideas were hidden here. The danger of accidentally uncovering a piece of dangerous information was greatly reduced if you could only identify things that were important to you or things you already knew about. It probably wouldn't work to stop the single-minded maniacs who knew exactly what kind of doomsday information they wanted, but it would certainly ensure that there was no accidental discoveries of said world-killing knowledge.

We finally caught up with Annabeth, who was standing in the middle of the aisle with her arms crossed and her head lowered in thought, facing the right-hand bookcases.

"What is it?" Jane asked, frowning.

Annabeth didn't say anything, but just nodded at the shelves that she was considering intently.

I looked at them properly, and saw that there were two of those man-sized openings right in front of us. It was a little odd - there was one opening in the shelves, then there was a three-foot-wide bookcase, then there was another gap, and then the shelving resumed.

"What's the problem?" I asked, frowning at Annabeth. As far as I could see, both openings led into the same aisle.

"Keep looking," Annabeth told me. "You'll see it."

Utterly puzzled now, I stepped through the first opening.

"Oh," I murmured, as I looked around me. The aisle beyond the gap was a lot narrower than I'd expected. I glanced to my left, but only saw shelves - there was no sign of the other entrance. I stepped back out, and went into the left-hand opening. Sure enough, I found myself in a different aisle. On both sides, there was only bookcases - again, no sign of the other entrance.

"We're getting deeper into the Library now," Annabeth said, as I stepped back out. "Finding our way won't be as easy."

"Yeah," said Jane, who'd just checked the right-hand gap. "You could be right there."

"So what do we do?" I asked Annabeth. This was really getting beyond my level of ingenuity. I just hoped the daughter of Athena could come up with the solution.

She didn't reply for a long moment, as she considered the situation. Annabeth tapped her foot as she thought, her eyes flicking back and forth, from one entrance to the other. She was frowning in concentration, but there was something else in her expression, too, something close to irritation.

"Okay. I see what we have to do," she said finally. Jane and I looked at her expectantly. The daughter of Athena muttered something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, "This is insulting." Then she said:

"We need to— _I_ need to follow my gut instinct here. If I listen to the Library, it will guide me down the correct path."

Her tone was flat and unamused, as though she found this solution woefully offensive. It took me about two seconds to guess why. I didn't think a child of Athena was particularly fond of making decisions based on _feelings_. That sounded more like something one of those wild demigods like Percy or Nico would do.

"That's not very scientific, is it?" Jane said, obviously coming to the same conclusion as me. She looked at Annabeth with a slightly sympathetic air. "Using feelings to find information?"

"No," Annabeth said darkly, starting to scowl. "No doubt there's a lesson in there somewhere."

She sighed, and unfolded her arms. I could literally _see_ her relax out of her intellectual focus: her aura around her head stilled, and some of the aura-light flowed down toward the rest of her body. She stopped looking at the openings, but let her eyes drift upwards, as though she was unconcerned as to which way she went. She stood like that for a moment, in a listening pose, waiting. Then, after a moment, she turned, with an air of certainty, to the right-hand entrance.

"It's this one," Annabeth said, already regaining her mental concentration, her aura flowing back around her head.

"You sure?" I said automatically.

She nodded tersely, still clearly a little irritated. "Come on."

She took the lead, as we moved on.

As we walked down the next aisle, I began to wonder if it was possible to actually get _lost_ in here. If you didn't have a clue what you were looking for - or if you didn't understand how the place worked - would you just wander aimlessly, forever? With a chill of unease, it occurred to me that this could be a good place to imprison _people_ as well as ideas.

Suddenly, Annabeth stopped. In my thoughtful reverie, I nearly walked into her, but she didn't seem to notice

"_Di immortales_," she cursed, with feeling, turning around to face us. "Gods, I'm so _stupid_."

Jane and I just stared at her blankly. There's times when I really don't feel like saying "what" again.

"The door!" she exclaimed. "I forgot to close it!"

Jane and I glanced at each other, then back at Annabeth.

"That… can't be too important, can it?" Jane said carefully, as though to a crazy person.

"You don't understand," the daughter of Athena said, shaking her head vigorously. "My mother _specifically_ told me to close that door. She doesn't just give _unimportant_ instructions. I have to go back."

Jane started to speak, probably to try to dissuade Annabeth, but I broke in before she could try.

"Okay," I said, stepping to one side. "We'll keep going, and you can catch up with us later. It won't take that long, right? You already know the way."

I didn't see why it was so important for her to close the door, but I could see in Annabeth's sharp grey eyes that she was going be damned if she didn't close that door before she took another step into the Library. I'd heard enough stories from Percy and Nico to know that trying to change Annabeth's mind was like trying to halt an avalanche with a garden spade.

"You're right, Cyrus," Annabeth nodded, already pushing past us. "I'll be back as soon as I can, you two keep moving. I have to close that door!"

She took off at a jogging pace, and in no time at all, she was gone.

"That's just pointless," Jane muttered, looking bemused at Annabeth's doggedness. "What difference can it possibly make? The only people on Olympus are the gods, who probably won't even want to come in here."

I glanced back up the aisle, and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it means something to Annabeth. We might as well keep going."

We started walking on, though Jane didn't seem satisfied. She shook her head as we moved on.

"What is it with people and the gods?" she said darkly. "Just because they're immortal beings doesn't mean we have to do everything they say. I think the myths make it pretty clear that they aren't really much wiser than us."

"I think it may have something to do with how they can, you know, incinerate people," I said diplomatically. I glanced up at the shelves: the engravings were starting to look just a little bit sharper. Maybe the Library knew I was looking for the ritual, and perhaps we were getting closer.

"Yeah, sure," Jane said, with a small laugh. "When was the last time Athena incinerated anybody? I bet she doesn't even remember how."

"You should tell her that."

We walked on in silence.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

_"__I should point out that visions of the apocalypse and prophecies of doom rarely turn out to be accurate. So far anyway."_

–Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant: The Dying of the Light'

* * *

Jane's pointed lack of admiration for the gods made me think again of how different she'd seemed on her arrival at the Empire State Building, the day before last. She'd mostly gone back to her old self since then, but there was still something changed in her. There was more anger, more defiance in her eyes than I'd ever seen before. I wondered, walking through the Library of Olympus, what had caused such an abrupt change.

Then I remembered that she'd mentioned visiting the Underworld. That wasn't something demigods just _did_, unless you were Nico di Angelo. The really strange thing, though, was that she was in one piece. Hades amazingly hadn't blasted her into a million wisps of ghost for having the impudence to enter his realm uninvited.

Then again, that was _assuming_ that he hadn't invited her.

I sighed inwardly. This was getting awfully complicated, awfully quickly.

As we made our way along, I tried to think of a way to broach the topic with Jane. I couldn't just go right out and ask her about the Underworld, or ask why she suddenly seemed to really dislike the gods. That would obviously just put her on the defensive. If I wanted to learn what was troubling her, I couldn't make her feel like she was being forced to talk.

"So how was autumn for you?" I asked, in a neutral tone.

"It was okay," she replied quietly. Her expression had been starting to relax after her outburst, but her eyes darkened again at my question.

"Only okay?" I asked, trying to sound merely vaguely interested.

"Yeah, well," Jane scowled, and started walking a little more quickly. I kept pace, and didn't say anything else, but went back to nonchalantly eyeing the shelves around us.

"I thought things would get easier," she said, after another hundred feet or so.

"What do you mean?"

"Life as a demigod," Jane muttered, shaking her head slightly. "I thought it would get easier with time, that it would all go into the background. I thought it would go away one day."

I didn't reply. For all my attempts at empathy, this wasn't really something I could understand, and there was no point pretending otherwise.

"Instead, being a half-blood just seems to be becoming my whole life, more and more," she went on, looking at me directly for the first time in a while. "That's not what I want."

I met her gaze, but there was something else there behind her eyes - the presence of untold truths. I got the feeling that she wasn't telling me the whole story. I didn't really know what to say to encourage her to open up, so I decided to take a chance.

In hindsight, that was a mistake.

"Is that," I asked, focussing on keeping my tone as level as possible, "why you went to the Underworld?"

Immediately, Jane's expression hardened. She looked away, her eyes flicking around, as though she was searching for an escape.

"I don't want to talk about that," she said, almost too quietly to hear. Her pace picked up a little.

"Jane—" I began, slightly apologetic.

"I said, I _don't_ _want_ to talk about it," Jane said abruptly, her voice rising sharply at the end of the sentence. I glanced at her: she wasn't looking at me, and her fists were tightly clenched. Her face was crumpled in an expression that showed pain, anger, and something else, something I couldn't quite understand.

Still, I could see that none of that emotion was really directed at me.

"Okay," I murmured, feeling absolutely terrible at being a thoughtful friend.

We walked on in a silence heavier than any which had fallen before. It seemed to me as though a space was opening up around Jane, a sort of invisible gap between her and everything else. I didn't know if it was a temporary bad mood, or something more permanent, but there was a feeling to it which made me think of the cold darkness that permeated the Land of the Dead.

But hey, it was probably just my morbidly overactive imagination.

It wasn't too long before we came to another choice of paths. This time, three openings were in the shelves before us, the aisles beyond each one looking exactly the same.

I glanced behind us, but unsurprisingly, Annabeth was nowhere to be seen. It was up to us to navigate for now. I narrowed my eyes, focussing on instinct, like what Annabeth had talked about. I didn't know what to expect, but I felt something almost immediately: a sort of tugging in my gut, pulling me towards the opening on the left. I didn't know _why_ that was the way to go, I just understood that that was the direction I needed to take, and any other would bring me to a dead end.

As I reached that conclusion, Jane said firmly, "I think it's this way."

To my surprise, she pointed towards the opening on the right.

"Um," I said, frowning. "No, I'm pretty sure it's this one." I pointed at the left one.

The two of us looked at each other in confusion, and said simultaneously, "I'm sure it's this one."

We paused, both of us confused, slightly amused and a little defensive.

I shook my head, looking back at the entrances. I felt immovably certain: the centre and right-hand openings were simply not the way to go. If I did not head down the left-hand path, I would be straying too far off-course. I felt it so fixedly that I knew there was no way I could be convinced to take the other path.

"I don't know," Jane murmured. Her expression was still tight, but her posture had relaxed a little. "Maybe we're both right? Maybe both ways lead to the ritual?"

"I guess so…" I said, scratching my head. "All roads lead to Rome, they say. "

We stood in contemplation for a moment more, both of us staring intently down the aisle which we felt was the right one, both of us ignoring the other ways. We didn't try to convince one another into changing our minds about which one was correct. I think we both felt our certainty so strongly that we knew any discussion was pointless. This was one of those moments of resolution that cannot be shaken.

"That would mean, then," Jane said finally, "that it doesn't matter which way we go. So I can go this way, you can go that way. We'll meet back up, right? Then we're both happy, with the same outcome. It's not like there's any monsters in here or anything."

"Right," I nodded. That made perfect sense to me, given the way the library was meant to work. It also meant we'd continue to progress, which was the most important thing. "Let's do it. See you on the other side."

"See you," Jane said, not quite meeting my gaze. Without looking back, she walked off into the right-hand aisle.

I headed down the left-hand one without hesitation, feeling more purposeful than I had since entering the library. I was on the right track, I just _knew_ it.

At first, the shelves in this aisle looked no different to the earlier ones. Very soon, though, I noticed a small alteration: the engraved captions started to become less blurry, and the items themselves began to change form less rapidly. Where each piece would previously change appearance every time my heart beat, now they changed only every few seconds.

This simply confirmed to me that I was going the right way. The Library, I felt, was beginning to let me into its secrets, as though I was approaching something it wanted me to learn. Any minute, surely, I would turn a corner and see the Ritual of the Pit sitting on a shelf in front of me.

As certain as I was about that, however, other doubts began to form in the back of my mind as I hurried along. Maybe I was asking Jane too much. Who was I to search into her private feelings and concerns, I reflected. I was her friend, but that didn't automatically mean I was her confidante. I was trying to help, but maybe I was only showing my usual lack of tact.

On the other hand, sometimes tact is worth sacrificing if it means reaching out to someone. After all, a lot of people (like me) don't like asking for help, even when they need it. It takes a disregard for conventions to get through that.

I guess that's the question. Do you spare a person's pride but make yourself feel bad for not taking an interest, or do you trample over their sensibilities to try to be helpful?

I sighed a little, and shook my head. Why did life always have to be so complicated?

I glanced ahead, and frowned. Much further up, the aisle was starting to look darker, as though it came to an end, or as though the candles overhead were running out. Despite my confidence, I began to feel uneasy, and I slowed my pace.

As I did so, I thought I heard a faint rustle behind me, like the movement of clothes. I span around immediately, one hand reaching down towards my knife at my belt. I looked around wildly, even checking overhead.

There was nothing to see, however. There was nothing around me but emotionless bookcases and enigmatic pieces of knowledge. I squinted, trying to see if there was someone way back down the aisle, but I could see nothing, not even a hint of movement. I shrugged, turned back around, and hurried on. It had probably just been my imagination.

I heard no more sounds, but another strange thing soon started to occur. The first time, I barely noticed it, only vaguely sensing a slight shift in the shelves around me, as though the items had changed more quickly than usual.

The second time, I caught it. In the blink of an eye, I moved forward down the aisle by about fifty feet, somehow completely skipping over the intervening space. I could measure the implausible jump by looking at the dimness up ahead, which had gotten a heck of a lot closer.

I paused, glancing behind me. It was hard to be certain, because one spot in this Library looked very much like any another spot hundreds of feet away, but it felt as though I was being moved forward, quite literally by magic.

I shook my head after staring around manically for a minute. Presumably it was just another one of the Library's bizarre tricks, and maybe I was only imagining things. I started walking again.

There was no imagining the third time. My surroundings actually _blurred_ for a moment, and suddenly I was mere feet away from that dimmer section of the aisle. I stopped again, starting to feel seriously confused. How could this be happening? I hadn't suddenly developed the ability to cut across space like an arrow, had I?

No, I thought, as I rubbed my eyes wearily. This was the Library's doing. It was shunting me towards something, like a strong wind forcing a wave towards the shoreline. I was getting close to something important. I moved on, approaching the darker area cautiously. I peered into it, trying to see what lay ahead.

Then, suddenly, the light shifted, as though the candles had flickered in a different direction. The dimness clarified into shapes, and I realised what was causing the patch of shadow.

I was actually standing near a _turn_ in the aisle, something I hadn't encountered before. The dimness was caused by a lack of light in the corner, making it look as though the shelves just ran out. As I drew nearer, it became obvious that the bookcases simply made a right-angle turn. Feeling oddly trepidatious, I turned the corner.

The Library hadn't made a turn just to be coy. The aisle ahead, at first glance, looked little different than the last one, but a closer examination showed that there was two main changes. First, the shelves were now fronted with clear glass doors, which glinted unobtrusively in the quiet candlelight.

The second difference was that not one of the items on the bookcases here was changing shape. All of them were in unshifting forms, mainly yellowing scrolls tied with dull red ribbons. The same sheen of gold light surrounded them all, but it did not move or transform.

I stepped forwards slowly, looking around with fascination. I felt a strange sensation, a sort of intense expectation. I looked at the engravings below the scrolls: I could so very _nearly_ read them. It was almost painful, with the tiny letters of the captions somehow just hovering out of the realm of interpretation.

I kept moving. I felt drawn forward, as though something on one of these shelves was exerting a magnetic pull on my very soul. I scanned the pieces of knowledge, searching without knowing what to look for.

Then, with a sense of chilling satisfaction that barely seemed to be a part of me, my eyes fell upon one scroll that glowed a little brighter than the rest. It was just the same as the items that surrounded it, no bigger, no thicker, except for the golden light which shrouded it.

I stepped towards this unique item, and then I saw the caption just below it, etched carefully in the shelf.

I could read it.

I could read it, and now I knew that it was the very thing I'd been searching for, without fully realising or understanding it. It was the one piece of knowledge in this Library which I truly sought, the artefact most personally important to me in the gods' entire collection.

_Prontos profiteia_.

I moved over to it tentatively, my fingers twitching, eager to grab it. I swung open the glass door, and very nearly reached up to pluck it right off the shelf, but Athena's warnings held me back. Instead I simply stood, staring at this little scroll, a piece of parchment which could hold secrets so crucial to my very existence.

It was unremarkable-looking, really, with no physical feature marking it out from the hundreds of other scrolls that filled the shelves in this aisle. It was old, but not necessarily ancient. I looked at the caption again. There was no doubt, it read _prontos profiteia_. This was _the_ prophecy, the one that Wilson had told me about, the one Hades had spoken of, the prophecy that was meant to foretell my fate.

I'd found it.

A surge of decisiveness swept through me. Never mind the Library's rules, I _knew_ it was right for me to open this scroll. Without any further hesitation, I reached up and took it from the shelf.

Nothing happened, which kind of surprised me. I'd really been expecting an alarm to sound, or the scroll to disintegrate, or for the floor to open up and swallow me. Not even the item's aura changed. It was awfully anticlimactic.

I lifted the thing up to eye level, and paused. This was it, all I had to do was open the scroll, but I was seized by a moment of reluctance. What if, by learning this prophecy, I changed my future? Maybe there was a reason why no-one had told me what this actually said. Perhaps there's some things which should only be learned by experience.

Then I shook myself. No. I was being _too_ careful. I couldn't spend my whole life asking for permission. If my fate had been laid down for me, I had the right to know what course it was meant to take.

My breath getting a little shaky, I slipped the ribbon off, and unfurled the scroll. It opened up quite easily, as though it had only been waiting to be let loose. I straightened it out slowly, not letting myself read the words inked onto the parchment until I had every character fully revealed.

Despite the fact that this was a Greek prophecy, the words appeared to be written in English. I could only suppose that this was some additional feature of the magic of the Library. There wasn't much written on the scroll, and indeed it wasn't that long: just big enough for a few lines. Finally, I took a deep breath, and read.

_Ancient foes will once more rise, but will once more fall,_

_For the strength of the West will outlast them all._

_Past battles will again be waged,_

_And again the gods will not be caged._

_Only when the shadows themselves rise and fight,_

_Will Olympus fall to a truly dark night._

_True power, the darkness will gain,_

_While the gods shall face eternal pain._

_But the one with the gift of unhindered sight,_

_Will hold the power to unveil the hidden light._

_And only he who stands alone in a crowd,_

_Can be the weaver of the shadows' shroud._

I lowered the piece of parchment, very slowly, trying to take in all the words at once.

So that was it. I could immediately see what the big deal was. The scope of this prophecy was huge. Nico, Percy and Annabeth had all told me about various prophecies they'd heard, and none of them, not even the Great Prophecies, were on the same level as this one. It was a master prophecy, a prediction that sat at the centre of all the others.

Distracted by my thoughts, I only vaguely felt a shift in the air behind me. I glanced over my shoulder absently, but there was nothing to see.

I looked at the scroll again. These words, they were so unremarkable, simple words written by hand in thick black ink. It was easy to suppose that they really were just words, but I could sense something else there, a ring of truth. It was hard to pinpoint. It was that air of certainty you feel when you hear something and _know_ that it's completely true. You don't always know exactly how or why, you just know that it _is_.

I read it again, feeling a little calmer. Now that I had finally read the damn thing, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders. It didn't answer very many questions, but now I knew about as much as anyone else.

I heard another rustle, much closer this time, and a chill of unease stirred in my stomach. Feeling rather fed up with the antics of this Olympian crowd, I turned around, still clutching the parchment.

Maybe I'd used up my amazement quota for the day, because somehow, I wasn't overly surprised to see Jake Wilson standing just a few feet in front of me, holding his razor-sharp Stygian sword.

"Well, hi, Cyrus," he said, smiling cheerfully, as though we'd just bumped into each other at the mall. "I had a feeling I might see you here."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

_"__How long have I known him? Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something."_

–Sherlock, 'The Reichenbach Fall'

* * *

Some people might have felt afraid, or angry, but I just sighed.

It's funny. I used to be scared of Wilson, but he really didn't frighten me anymore. It wasn't like I enjoyed his company or anything, but I preferred him to an _actual_ monster. He was an enemy, sure, but a familiar one, and I felt that I knew how to deal with him.

"How did you get in here?" I said neutrally, slipping the scroll into my left hand, and resting my right hand on my dagger handle.

Wilson laughed a little, and lowered his sword to one side. "You cut right to the chase, huh? Where's the formalities?"

"Hey, you're the one trespassing," I shrugged. "I suppose you're here for the ritual, right? It's not just me here, you know."

Wilson didn't reply to that, but glanced away from my gaze to look me up and down. It didn't take very long for his eyes to fix on the scroll.

"What about that?" he asked quietly, raising one eyebrow. "You find something that interests you?"

I frowned, trying to put on a poker face. It probably didn't make any difference if Wilson knew that I'd found the prophecy, but the less he knew, the better.

"Oh, it's nothing," I said, looking down at the parchment with a vague gaze, as though it was something hopelessly uninteresting. I scanned over the lines one last time, committing them to memory, before rolling the scroll back up. All the while, Wilson stood watching me, with a worryingly knowing air.

As I started to fumble the ribbon back onto the rolled-up parchment, the son of Erebus said, in a more serious tone, "That's the prophecy, isn't it?"

I _tried_ not to react, I really did, but I couldn't help it. I froze, and looked up at Wilson, very slowly. He looked back at me emotionlessly.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice icy, which was kind of a dead giveaway, let's face it.

"Oh, come on, Cyrus," Wilson said. He sheathed his sword, and stepped towards me. I would've stepped backwards, but then my head would have ungracefully collide with the bookcase's glass door. "As far as I know, the only thing in this library which could be of any importance to you is the _prontos profiteia_, and I know how this place works. It takes you to what you need."

Taking me by surprise, Wilson reached out and just plucked the scroll from my loose grip. He slipped the ribbon back off it and unrolled the parchment. As he examined the prophecy, I looked at him.

It was only a few months since I'd last seen the son of Erebus, though it felt like a lot longer. He didn't seem much different, but one thing was changed: his aura had grown stronger and more intense than ever before. It had always been very obviously powerful, but now it had become something that went beyond the auras of any half-blood I'd seen. I had to focus to push it away, before I got sucked in by its deep intensity.

I noticed something strange, though, something that had occurred to me the last time I'd seen him, but which I'd forgotten about. Only now did I understand this odd sensation.

Every time I saw Wilson, he seemed much more familiar to me, but in an illogical way. I'd only met him a handful of times, but each time we met, I felt like I was re-encountering someone who I knew better than anyone else in the world.

Wilson glanced up, catching me staring.

"I know, I'm wolfishly handsome," he smiled offhandedly. "Well, Cyrus, I have to congratulate you."

I was used to Wilson saying the most random things, but this did surprise me. "Huh?"

"I have to congratulate you," he repeated, holding up the prophecy with an impressed air. "You've managed, probably without even intending it, to find the original copy of the _prontos profiteia_."

"Uh. Okay," I said, with wisdom, giving him my best blank stare. "Great."

"It _is_ great," Wilson said, shaking his head in amazement. "This thing is so old, I thought it had been destroyed."

He continued to examine the scroll with interest, turning it around and around. I gave him another moment to play his game, for whatever good it did him, and then I said flatly, "What are you doing here?"

He didn't reply at first, but slowly rolled up the scroll and put the ribbon back on. He held it in his right hand, tapping it against his left like a baton, and said, "Do you know how old this thing is?"

"What are you doing here?" I repeated flatly.

"This prophecy was given way back when Olympus came to America," Wilson went on, somehow managing to ignore me whilst looking at me. "Every time the gods move home, a new prophecy is given which forecasts their fate in the new land."

"What are you doing in the Library?" I said, my tone growing colder. I didn't want to hear his patter, I'd had plenty of it already. "How did you get in?"

Wilson started to ramble on, then paused, and sighed. He looked away from me, and started scanning the shelves behind me for something.

"How long did it take her?" he murmured, as he did so.

"Huh?"

"How long did it take Annabeth to remember to go back and close the door?" he elaborated, still looking from shelf to shelf.

"Oh," I said. A dim sense of comprehension shifted in the back of my mind. "I don't know. About ten minutes or so. Maybe a bit more."

"That was lucky," Wilson muttered to himself. He stepped past me, to stand right in front of the bookcases

I frowned at his profile. Usually I could keep up with his ramblings, but for once he wasn't making any sense at all. What difference did it make to him whether the door was open or not? I'd seen the entrance to the Library. We'd more or less just walked in. Presumably he'd done the same—

Then it hit me.

Annabeth had received _clearance_ from the Olympians to enter the Library. Maybe that meant more than I'd realised.

"Oh," I said quietly.

Wilson found what he was looking for: the gap in the shelf where the scroll belonged. He opened the glass door, replaced the scroll gently, then turned around.

"Oh," he nodded, grinning. "People can't just walk into_ Olympus Library_, Cyrus. If they could, the ritual wouldn't be an issue. No, to get in here without permission, someone else has to open the door first. Normally that's not remotely possible, but with a little manoeuvring…"

Wilson stopped talking abruptly, as though he'd said too much, and glanced at his watch. He raised his eyebrows, seemingly surprised at the time, and looked up at me with a more purposeful expression than before. His right hand moved towards his sword.

Obviously, he was on a schedule.

"Now, let's get this over with," he said briskly. "You're right, I'm here to take the ritual book, but I can't find my way to it. We're going to have to come to an agreement. You've already found your prophecy. You can lead me to what I want."

Immediately, I reached for my dagger. Wilson was quicker, and had his sword out in the blink of an eye. He didn't raise it above waist height, but his posture shifted, so that he was ready to attack or defend at any moment.

"Look," Wilson said flatly, looking at me levelly. "Let's not do this. You lead me to the ritual, I take it, I leave. I don't kill you, you don't embarrass yourself trying to kill me, and we're all happy. Except for the gods, but that's kind of the idea."

I ignored his jibe, knowing that he was only trying to make me mad. I thought about my options, keeping my hand on my dagger. The reality was that I couldn't fight him off on my own. Close-quarters combat isn't exactly my strength, and I had a feeling that the great amount of shadows around us would only play to Wilson's advantage. I could try to run for it, but I'd had enough experience of running away from shady mythological characters to know that it didn't usually work out.

So I had to lead Wilson _somewhere_ \- but he obviously wasn't able to find his way to the ritual on his own. That's why he'd come after me, to make me be his guide. That gave me a little leverage, because I could lead him in completely the wrong direction and he wouldn't even know it. I didn't get how he'd managed to overlook that, but then everyone misses something.

The thing was, though, it was no use leading him off to a random part of the Library. I needed to incapacitate him, somehow, but I couldn't do it alone.

Finally, I knew what to do.

"Fine," I said, dropping my hand to my side. "Let's go find an apocalyptic magic rite."

Wilson nodded, and sheathed his sword. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said sardonically.

I couldn't take him on my own - but a highly capable and experienced demigod could. I had to lead the son of Erebus to Annabeth, and hope that she hadn't already found the ritual.

Then we really _would_ be in a pickle.

Focussing my mind on the daughter of Athena, I looked up and down the aisle, searching for that inner pull, that navigational instinct. I let the Library in. The spirit of the place was all around me, and it reminded strongly me of Amichanos, the reassuring spirit of knowledge who was exiled in the Fields of Silence. I made a request in my mind, asking for directions, as it were.

It didn't take long for a sense of direction to ease into me, a gentle suggestion of the correct path. I followed it, turning to look down this aisle of scrolls.

As I did so, I wondered how on earth I'd ended up in the middle of an ancient, legendary library, pretending to guide the megalomaniacal offspring of an ancient shadow god to an arcane rite which could summon one of the most dangerous primordial beings in existence.

I guess it beats watching TV.

We set off, with Wilson walking half a pace behind me, to my right.

"I've always liked libraries," he said cheerfully, after a moment or two of heavy silence.

"Really?" I muttered darkly, not looking around at him. "I gotta say, I thought you'd be more the book-burning sort."

"What? Why?" Wilson said, sounding a little hurt. "Just because I hate the gods doesn't mean I hate everything, I mean, gosh."

The aisle began to widen out a little. The Library seemed to be getting increasingly varied as we drew nearer to - what? Its centre? There was room enough now for three people to walk alongside each other. Wilson saw this too, and moved so that he was walking next to me - but he kept far enough away so that he wasn't really by my side.

"It's amazing, this place, it really is," he murmured appreciatively.

I was reluctant to get into conversation with him, but I couldn't help myself. "If you hate the gods, why wouldn't you hate this place, too? This is just another example of their power."

Wilson looked back at me, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm not totally unreasonable, Cyrus," he said, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked. "Sure, I hate the gods, I completely despise their existence, but that doesn't meant I have to hate everything related to them. Most people hate the Nazis, but that doesn't stop them driving Volkswagen Beetles, does it?"

I had to admit, that made sense - it was exactly the kind of chillingly pragmatic thinking that I was used to hearing from Wilson.

A few minutes and many yards later, Wilson spoke again, this time in a pensive tone, as though he'd been thinking this one through.

"I don't do things for no reason," he said quietly. "I hate the gods because they killed my mother, and because of that, I will bring them down. I want to convince the Lightbringer to join my side, and so I try to do so. I don't hate things for no reason, though, and I don't kill people or attack things just for the sake of it. Those really _are_ the actions of a madman."

The items on the shelves were starting to change again: literally, they were once more changing from form to form, slowly but consistently. I couldn't read any of the captions here, but I felt certain, in my very gut, that we were drawing closer to Annabeth.

"Lightbringer," I said ponderously, brushing my hair back from my forehead. "I understand that title better now. You get it from the prophecy, don't you? _'The power to unleash the hidden light'. _I'm the one with the unhindered sight, so I guess I'm the one who can unleash this light, whatever that means. Maybe it's a super-strong light bulb or something. The Light Bulb of Destiny."

"It probably means the salvation of the gods," Wilson said offhandedly. "That kind of imagery usually does. The Olympians are always so self-righteous… Still, you won't get to do it. You hold the power, right, but that doesn't guarantee that it'll be fulfilled."

"What? Why?" I said, looking at him sharply.

"Can't tell you that," he replied easily, meeting my gaze for a moment. "You'll see why eventually. Things are going to change, very soon, and you won't be able to unleash any kind of light. Sorry, man."

We walked on in grim silence.

A lot of thoughts were crowding in my mind, each one clamouring to be considered, but I focussed as much as possible on reaching Annabeth. I realised where I'd gone wrong earlier: I'd stopped focussing on the ritual, so the Library had instead brought me to the prophecy. I sure wasn't complaining about _that_ bit of bad navigation, but I couldn't afford for it to happen again.

In the back of my mind, I wondered what else I would find if I let the Library lead me. Would it take me to something as apparently important as the prophecy, or would it show me information that I couldn't even imagine? Then again, if this place only held stuff that was related to the gods, there couldn't be all that much in here that was important for me to know.

In the time it takes to blink, the aisle suddenly widened out, and we found ourselves standing at the edge of a much larger circular area. Almost instinctively, I stepped back, though this was helped along by Wilson tugging me by the arm. At first I didn't realise why he was making me pull back, but then I saw her.

Standing at one of the bookcases on the right-hand side of this new area was none other than Annabeth Chase.

Wilson gave me a sharp look, and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he made a quick gesture with his left hand, and I felt a shift in the air around us. His aura rippled briefly, and a wafer-thin covering of darkness settled over us like a cloak of invisibility. We stood there, hidden from view.

I looked at what lay ahead. The circle of bookcases had a diameter of about twenty feet. The shelves formed the sides, with a few seats and tables scattered in the open area. Opposite to where Wilson and I stood, there was a narrow aisle leading out of the circle.

The shelves here were as tall as anywhere else in the Library, but because there was more space in front of them, it was easier to appreciate their height. It was clearer, too, just how many items were held on each shelf, never mind each bookcase. It was brighter here: there was more candles than in the regular part of the Library, and they burned more intensely, almost abnormally so.

I looked again at Annabeth, who hadn't noticed us, and I finally realised why Wilson was keeping us so quiet.

The daughter of Athena was holding a great glowing tome, its corners set with sparking bronze. It was one of the biggest books I'd ever seen, and the covers were made of some kind of thin wood. I was too far away to read the flowing script inscribed on the front, but the air of power surrounding the item made me feel sure that Annabeth had found the text containing the Ritual of the Pit.

I nearly punched Wilson out of sheer annoyance. So much for my genius plan.

"That's it, then," the son of Erebus said in the lowest possible undertone. "You obviously know your way around this place, Cyrus."

I was tempted to tell him that I hadn't been planning on leading him to the ritual at all, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. I was also tempted to shout out and alert Annabeth, but I was painfully aware of Wilson's hand resting on his sword's grip.

"The only problem, now," Wilson murmured to himself, "is how to actually take it."

I frowned, and gave him a sidelong glance. What was he talking about? He just had to march over and snatch it from Annabeth, right? Surely that wasn't too much for him.

Then I realised. Annabeth was older, more experienced and far more legendary than Wilson. Not even him, with his Olympus-killing notions, wanted to take her head-on in a fight.

"I can't use my powers too much," he went on, as if to explain why he didn't feel capable of taking down Annabeth. "It would only draw the gods' attention, but how…"

He fell silent, lost in his own thoughts.

As he considered the situation, I tried to plot some way to let Annabeth know that we were here. For once, I genuinely regretted not having any half-blood powers. Sometimes being only a mortal with hyperactive vision can be pretty useless. At least if I were the son of a deity I'd have a few more _options_.

Annabeth was leafing through the pages of the book now, searching for something, probably the instructions for the ritual. I just couldn't think of any subtle way to alert her. Pretty much the only option I had was to run into the open area yelling and looking panicked (which admittedly wouldn't be too difficult). The only slight problem with that idea was that it might encourage Wilson to stick me in the back with his sword. This normally wouldn't be a problem, since celestial bronze can't hurt me, but his blade was made from Stygian iron, which is harmful to pretty much everything.

Then again, given his reluctance to fight Annabeth, it seemed more likely that if I did go out there, Wilson would just run for it.

I made my decision. I was just about to throw myself desperately into Annabeth's field of vision when I noticed movement in the aisle directly across from us. Wilson saw it too, and glanced at me suspiciously, before looking back at it. Someone was approaching the circular area, moving slowly but steadily. The light was dimmer in the opposite aisle, so at first I couldn't see who it was. But as they drew nearer, the bright light of the circle spilled onto their face.

_Faces._

I frowned, trying to understand what I was seeing. Surely my eyes were deceiving me, that couldn't be—

I looked away, rubbed my eyes, and looked back, but there was no doubt about it. Coming slowly down through the opposite aisle was none other than Jane Welles and the Rhean high priest, Xavier Graecus.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

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**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

_"__What's going on?"_

_"__There are some bad guys here."_

_"__Grevane?" he asked._

_"__No. New bad guys," I said._

_"__More of them?" Butters said. "That's not fair."_

_"__I know. It's getting to be like Satan's reunion tour around here."_

–Jim Butcher, 'Dead Beat'

* * *

"What the _hell_ is he doing here?" Wilson muttered, his low voice laden with anger.

At first glance, I thought Jane was walking with Xavier, but as they drew closer, I saw that his left hand was gripping Jane's arm to stop her from getting away. Her expression was tight with anger and frustration, which made it clear that she wasn't exactly cooperating.

They didn't notice us, even as they reached the end of the aisle. Like us, they paused, peering cautiously over at Annabeth.

"How the hell did he get in here without me noticing?" Wilson whispered furiously, looking at me as though I knew. "I was watching everything. He couldn't have just slipped by."

I stayed quiet, and felt a little hopeful. Perhaps Wilson's frustration would create an opportunity. I gathered myself, ready to move at the first opportunity.

That said, his irritation was kind of surprising. Wasn't he on the same side as Xavier? Wouldn't he be glad to have some extra help? Unless he was mad that the high priest was trying to steal his glory.

"What am I supposed to do _now_?" he went on darkly, half-unsheathing his sword.

I glanced over at Annabeth. She'd closed the book, and was staring at it intently, as though trying to understand something.

Suddenly, Xavier stepped behind Jane. Still gripping her tightly, he put his sword to her neck, very quietly. Then, they walked forward, moving out of the aisle and into Annabeth's field of vision. She didn't look around immediately, absorbed still by her thoughts.

"Demigod," Xavier said, not loudly, but with plenty of menace and a dash of melodrama.

Annabeth looked around quickly, her eyebrows raised in alarm. She saw Xavier, and Jane, who was standing completely still, as though afraid that the slightest motion would make the crazy Rhean press that sword home.

Annabeth stared at him for a long moment, her right hand drifting down towards her dagger. She didn't speak, but only waited.

"Give me that book of rituals, please," Xavier commanded, his eyes boring into the daughter of Athena. "If you do not, Ms. Welles here will suffer."

Wilson cursed softly.

"Looks like I have to improvise," he murmured. Then, he mirrored Xavier, and put his sword to my throat. I tried not to flinch, though he did it so quickly and silently that I was taken by surprise.

"For your own sake, keep still, Cyrus," he said in my ear. "I don't really want to kill you, but accidents just _happen_ if people aren't careful."

Then, the son of Erebus waved his left hand, removing the shadows which concealed us, before gripping my shoulder firmly.

"Now," he said, for a moment sounding slightly weary. "Here we go."

He pushed me carefully, and we stepped forwards, into the view of Annabeth, Jane and Xavier, just as the daughter of Athena spoke.

"Isn't the son of Chaos your enemy, too, Xavier?" she said conversationally. "If he rises, everyone loses, even Rhea."

The priest's face was expressionless. "These things may be true, but I still want the ritual."

"Well, so do I!" Wilson declared cheerfully.

Everyone whirled about, staring at him in astonishment.

The range of expressions was interesting - it would have been funny, if I hadn't been standing there with a sword at my throat and all. Xavier ignored me completely, and stared at Wilson with a sort of infuriated horror, as though he couldn't quite believe that the demigod had the cheek to turn up here. Jane just looked like she couldn't believe how bad things were turning out, and seemed to be asking herself why she'd even come along. Annabeth alone visibly pushed her emotions to one side, her eyes narrowing as she tried to work out a plan.

"What a funny situation we're all in," Wilson went on. I couldn't see him, but I was sure he had that irritating grin on his face. "What should we do? Annabeth? What do you think?"

"You dare to enter this Library, Jake Wilson?" Xavier said darkly, his sword-holding hand twitched unnervingly.

The sword at my throat tilted away briefly as Wilson shrugged. "Hey, I could say the same to you. Don't see much difference between you and me, really."

"The ritual is _mine_!" Xavier barked, his fury suddenly bursting forth. Jane winced as the Rhean inadvertently pressed the sword in a little more tightly. "It was entrusted to Rhea's safekeeping many eons ago, and I have come to reclaim it on behalf of her, and of the whole of civilisation."

"Whoa, there, man," Wilson said, his tone ridiculously light. Having seen how angry he'd been a moment ago, I knew he was bluffing. "The whole of civilisation? That's a lot of people. Look, maybe we can share the ritual, have a—"

"_No_!" Xavier roared. "I will not yield! I claim this piece of knowledge, and I defy the challenge of both you and the monster you serve!"

He raised his left hand to gesture menacingly at the tome, which Annabeth was now clutching under one arm.

That was his mistake.

For a brief moment, Jane got a little room to manoeuvre, and she exploited it instantly. She jabbed her elbow into Xavier's stomach, making him stagger a couple of steps away from her. As he moved, she ducked out from his grasp, and drew her own sword in time to stop the Rhean from beheading her on the spot.

But that was only the sideshow.

While all eyes were on Jane, Annabeth acted. She ran directly across the open area, bolting towards the wall of shelves across from her. Neither Xavier nor Wilson moved towards her, both of them presumably certain that she couldn't escape without going past them.

Then, Annabeth waved her hand, frowning hard with concentration. Her aura flared, and a deep juddering shook the floor. Xavier paused in his attack on Jane to look around wildly, and Wilson's grip on me slackened in surprise, as a whole column of the shelves in front of Annabeth just melted into thin air.

The daughter of Athena cast a quick glance over her shoulder at us, before taking off down this newly-summoned passageway.

Xavier stared over at Wilson for a moment, before the son of Erebus shouted, "Don't just stand there! After her!"

Letting go of me entirely, the half-blood ran off, heading down the passage after Annabeth, with Xavier hot on his heels. Their shouts echoed around the Library as, like Annabeth, they disappeared from sight.

"Ugh," Jane muttered, a few feet away from me. She let herself fall to her knees, dropping her sword beside her. I hurried over, checking her aura. It was pretty shaken up, but was settling back down quickly. She breathed in deeply, winded.

"Are you okay?" I asked carefully, crouching down in front of her.

"Yeah," Jane said, after a pause. She brushed her hair out of her face as she regained her composure. "He just crept up on me, and used some kind of spell to stop me using my powers. It _hurt_, gods, I could barely walk."

I looked her in the eye. Her face was a little drawn, but was relaxing quickly now that she was able to rest. There was no sign of the exhaustion that she'd suffered at the end of the battle against Tartarus's spectres. Xavier, it seemed, had not injured her seriously, either mentally or physically.

"You'll be okay," I said, trying to be reassuring. "Just focus on getting your energy back."

I stood up, and looked down the passage that Annabeth had conjured up from nowhere. I expected something dramatic, but in fact it was just another aisle of bookshelves. I couldn't even see Xavier or Jake - after a few hundred feet, the shelves vanished into dimness, as the candlelight grew more moderate.

"There's no point going after them," Jane said. "They could be anywhere by now." I glanced over: she was already on her feet.

"Then what should we do?" I said, glancing again down the aisle. There was no signs of movement, and not even a whisper of sound. The Library had swallowed them up and, if Annabeth had found some new way to manipulate the geography of the place, they could be miles away.

"I guess we just go back to the exit?" Jane suggested, shrugging as she walked over to me. "I don't know. We'll probably never find them if we just wander. Hopefully Annabeth can lose them and get back out."

We stood, gazing pensively down the empty aisle. There was something oddly ghostly about it, as though the shelves had not seen a living person pass by for hundreds of years.

"I wonder what'll happen to them," I said thoughtfully. "Wilson, and Xavier. Will they be trapped in here?"

"Oh, they'll find their way out _eventually_," an oddly familiar voice said from only a few feet away.

Jane and I whirled around in alarm, our weapons rapidly appearing in our hands. It wasn't an enemy who we found, but I didn't immediately relax. I had to look hard before I felt certain that the Library wasn't making me hallucinate or something. This place was worse than the Fields of Silence.

Looking a little breathless, a little harried, but otherwise unharmed, was Annabeth Chase herself.

"What's wrong?" she said, raising her eyebrows at our disbelieving stares. "Haven't you ever seen a blonde person before?"

"Um," Jane said slowly, not yet lowering her sword. "What— How did you— Are you—"

"It's the Library," Annabeth said nonchalantly. She spread out her arms, with the ritual tome still in her left hand. "This place… it took me so long to realise it, but it's obvious once you understand it. This place was built by my mother. She designed it, she weaved all the structural enchantments, she wrote its rules."

"Uh," I said confusedly, sheathing my dagger as my mind finally accepted that this really was Annabeth, and not some kind of trick. After all, no illusion could talk like that. "Okay. So?"

"Come on, Cyrus," Annabeth said chidingly, looking surprised that I didn't understand her. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

She stepped forwards, and reached past us. With a frown of concentration, and a pulse of activity through her aura, she made a quick gesture that ended in a clenched fist. After a momentary pause, the column of shelving that had faded away earlier now melted back into sight, sealing off the escape passage. As it solidified, I started to understand.

"Oh, right," I said, thinking it through. "Is this like the way Percy has power over things to do with Poseidon's realm?"

"Exactly!" Annabeth nodded, looking pleased."The whole Library is in tune with me, it works with me and what I want much more than it would with someone who isn't a child of Athena. It's like how Percy can make a body of water change and move however he wants. If I need another route, the Library will give it to me."

Comprehension began to dawn on Jane's puzzled face. She relaxed, presumably as she, too, accepted that this was the real daughter of Athena.

"Cool!" she said, finally sheathing her sword. "That makes things a lot easier, doesn't it? It would have been good if you'd realised that at the start, but then that would have been _too_ easy, right?"

Annabeth nodded with a long-suffering air.

"So," she said, jerking her head at the aisle behind her. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Our journey back to the Library's entrance was a lot simpler than our earlier journey into the depths of the archives. We didn't take the path that was presented to us, but instead went a much faster route. Annabeth used her Athenian influence - with a more than slight air of self-satisfaction - to summon passageways that cut us right through the Library by the shortest route possible. Apparently, Annabeth's powers over the Library also gave her a sense of its geography, enabling her to mentally plot our course.

"It's a much more fluid construct than you'd expect," she told us, as she closed an opening behind us. "The layout isn't fixed. If I make it give me a different path, it just redistributes the shelves throughout the system."

The daughter of Athena was happier than I'd seen her in a long time. It reminded me of how Percy got really enthusiastic when he was in the water. This was the element where her godly half belonged, so it must have felt like coming home.

Jane, meanwhile, was more concerned about our good friends Jakey and Xavy catching up on us.

"They won't be able to find us again, right?" she said anxiously, constantly glancing behind us. "Like how they did before?"

"They'd be _able_ to do it eventually," Annabeth said unhelpfully. "But it'll take them a long time. We'll be gone soon, and they'll be wandering around searching for us. We might even be able to hand them over to the gods."

That sounded great to me, though somehow I had a feeling things wouldn't be that simple. Annabeth's neutral expression showed me that she, too, wasn't banking on that one.

As we made our way along, I gradually began to calm down. I hadn't realised how tense I'd been, but now that everything had broken up, I saw how on-edge I'd been. Finally, I was calm enough to actually be curious about the ritual tome, which Annabeth had tucked under her arm.

"What's the deal with the massive book?" I asked, as we walked down an unusually well-lit aisle. "Is there only one ritual in it?"

"No, there's hundreds of different spells and rites in this volume," Annabeth replied, glancing at the book appreciatively. "It's a sort of encyclopaedia of ceremonial magic. The Ritual of the Pit is probably the most important one in it, but there's many other useful ones, too."

"I wonder how we'll make a fake copy of something that big, then," I said doubtfully.

"Oh, we'll do it," Annabeth said, with certainty. "The Hephaestus cabin has an amazing printing press. It'll work, I'm sure of it."

We went on in silence, each of us contemplating our own private mysteries. Every now and then, I glanced at Jane, who walked alongside me. She seemed calmer than earlier, but there was still a little tension in her eyes. There was undoubtedly something gnawing at her, but I had almost no idea what.

We passed through another one of Annabeth's custom openings, and found ourselves a mere fifty feet away from the entranceway.

"Oh, good!" Jane said, sounding more cheerful, and a little relieved. "We're here already. That was easy."

I think the universe heard her.

Suddenly, without any warning at all, the lights all went out, and we were plunged into total darkness.

"What the—" I heard Jane exclaim, just behind me. I glanced all around: I could see nothing, nothing whatsoever, only darkness as black as a monster's soul.

"Nobody move," Annabeth said quietly, a step or two in front of me. "Don't move a single step. This isn't normal. Someone's used magic to shut down the light system in this section."

I frowned. Something about this darkness seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it…

And then there was the sounds of urgent motion, coming from both ahead and behind. I could hear Annabeth moving to one side of the aisle, drawing her dagger, and I felt Jane brush by me. Something was attacking them both, separately…

And then I remembered - this darkness, I'd seen it before, I'd been trapped in it before. These were the same shadows that Jake Wilson had used to try to contain me, Jane and Nico, all that time ago, back in his cellar.

I knew what to do. While the sounds of movement grew louder around me, accompanied by the staccato noises of scuffling, I reached for my sight. I closed my eyes, clenching my fist as I drew in a long breath. I held the breath for a tiny moment, then let it out again, relaxing my fist, and opening my eyes.

But I was too late.

The darkness was gone, I could see clearly, and the first thing I saw was Annabeth crumpling to the ground, struck down by some magical blow from Xavier Graecus, who loomed over her. His hand crackled with green light, and with his other hand he reached down towards the ritual tome. I stepped towards him, but the clang of clashing weapons behind me made me look around.

Jane and Jake were fighting now, Stygian sword on Stygian sword. Jane could see through the darkness, no doubt because of her own Nyxian powers, but she was struggling against Wilson, who was a much more powerful swordsman. He feinted with his blade, making Jane shift her defence, and then with his left hand he conjured up a fistful of churning shadows, and cast it right into her face.

She staggered backwards, falling into the bookshelves and slumping down onto the floor. Wilson was moving before she even fell still, taking off down the aisle towards the door. I reached out, trying to grab onto him, but he was too fast. He was out of my reach before I could blink, and I hurried after him.

Then I realised: ahead of us by many feet already was Xavier, who had the ritual book clamped under his arm. Annabeth seemed to be unconscious, so it was left to me to pursue.

The three of us ran towards the exit, strung out along the aisle at uneven distances. Xavier wasn't particularly fast, but he had a long stride, and he was the first to reach the door. He yanked it open by a bronze knob set in its centre, and slipped out, not wasting time with closing it behind him.

Then Wilson was there, also slipping through. He paused to shut the door behind him, but saw that I was gaining on him, and ran off before I could catch up.

Finally I reached the door, and cast a worried glance back at my friends. They were both still on the ground, unconscious or near enough. I wanted to go back to them, but I knew the most important thing now was to stop Xavier and Wilson. My jaw set with resolve, I burst through the door into the light.

After spending so long inside the candle-lit Library, the sunlight was a bit of shock to my eyes. I put a hand over them, blinking rapidly, and ran out onto the main road.

My heart sank as I looked around me.

Xavier and Wilson were both still in sight, but there was a problem: they were going in opposite directions. Xavier had took off down an avenue on the left, while Wilson was sprinting down a road on the right.

I hesitated. The whole point of coming to Olympus had been to get the ritual, but this was a great opportunity to finally capture the son of Erebus. Xavier wasn't exactly well-disguised, inevitably someone would spot and stop him, but Wilson, he was just a demigod, no-one would stop him. There was probably already security measures being activated to chase Xavier down.

But the ritual, that was crucial, that was the whole point…

Unsure, uneasy, I followed my emotion, and ran after Wilson.

I didn't exactly know my way around Olympus, but Wilson seemed to be familiar with the layout. He plunged into the narrow alleyways that ran between the buildings so as to avoid any passers-by. I hadn't realised this earlier, but there was a veritable maze of back alleys and pathways just off the main roads. I nearly lost him immediately, but by sheer luck I ran down the right path. I turned a corner, and spotted him dashing along behind a massive shrine. Running on adrenaline, I sped after him.

The son of Erebus was fast, but I'd been doing a lot of fitness training at camp, and I was able to stay with him. I gained on him slowly, just about managing to keep track of the half-blood as he weaved from alley to alley. He glanced over his shoulder every now and then, gauging the distance between us. His aura fluttered out behind him like a demonic rain cloud, but he didn't use his power. I could guess why. Using his shadow powers out here would attract far too much attention.

I gritted my teeth, pushing myself to run even faster. I was within yards of him now, if I could just get close enough to grab hold…

Then, Wilson abruptly turned back onto the main road. A murmur of unease shivered in my stomach. We'd covered a lot of ground, what if we were already near…

I came onto the road again, and as I saw where we were, I felt like my heart was dropping down into the abyss that surrounded Olympus.

We were already near the edge of the mountain. The sky-bridge towards the elevator was only a few metres away. Xavier Graecus was running down it at top speed, his cloak billowing out behind him like a sail, the ritual tome still held firmly under his arm.

I groaned aloud. I'd never catch him now, no-one would. By some impossibility, he'd totally evaded capture. That was absurd to me. You'd think the Olympians would have better security measures in their own home.

Then I frowned. Where was Wilson?

I looked around, checking to see if he was about to jump out at me. Then I spotted him: he stood in the shadow of one of the monuments to Zeus. at the very edge of the mount, where the mountaintop ended and the sky began.

I started moving towards him, frowning. What was he doing?

The shadows around him were churning wildly, boiling about him like an ethereal pot of black water. The son of Erebus had his arms down by his sides, his fists clenched. His aura was shivering powerfully, sucking in the darkness that surrounded him, wrapping Wilson in a cocoon of protective power.

I approached, a little more slowly. There was just a few feet between us, but I was reluctant to grab onto Wilson now. It looked like he was getting ready to shadow-travel the hell away from here, and I sure didn't want to end up wherever he was going.

(But how could he shadow-travel off Olympus? Nico had told me that none but Hades himself could do that.)

Wilson must have heard me coming, because he turned to face me. The shadows continued to wrap around him as he moved, forming a sort of dark shroud.

"I think you lost this one, Cyrus," he said, raising one eyebrow at me. "Sorry, man."

Then, without looking away from me, he stepped backwards, letting himself fall over the edge and into the abyss.

I cried out in surprise as I ran over to look down. I reached the edge just in time to see the shadows contort sharply around Wilson, quickly and completely absorbing him, before dissipating into nothing. I blinked, and he was gone.

I stared down into the abyss for a long moment, feeling hopelessly crestfallen. We'd failed. Both Xavier and Wilson had gotten away, and the ritual was gone. A cold breeze brushed my face, ruffling my hair. I sighed, my shoulders sagging, and turned away.

Me and my big plans.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

_I tried to think positive, because I read somewhere that it's important to do that at times of stress and frustration._

_Whoever wrote that was probably selling something._

–Jim Butcher, 'Proven Guilty'

* * *

The sun had set by the time we got back to camp.

It took time to get off Olympus. I had to go back to the Library to wake Jane and Annabeth. Then we'd gone to report to Athena, who hadn't exactly been amused by how events had unfolded. The goddess didn't seem surprised, but she sure wasn't happy, either.

"This may be a grave mistake," she muttered, glaring at Annabeth, who looked like she just wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. "If the Rheans invoke the ritual, the consequences will be severe."

She made a few more grave pronouncements before sending us off with an air of disapproval. It seemed to me, though, that Athena wasn't anywhere near as annoyed as one would expect. Something told me that she'd suspected all along that our plan would fail drastically, but for some inexplicable reason she'd said nothing.

After that, we'd headed back through Olympus, to the elevator. Annabeth made her way along wearily: the things she'd been able to do in the Library had cost her a lot more energy than I'd expected.

"I had a feeling this would happen," she murmured, as we shuffled down the sky-bridge. "Percy always gets exhausted if he pulls too many stunts in the water."

Jane was unsteady, too, though for different reasons. She was still shaky from being knocked out by Wilson, but I thought she seemed frustrated, too, as though she was annoyed that someone could defeat her using the very shadows she wielded. Her power had been growing, after all, and to be so easily defeated would inevitably wound her pride.

Somehow, when we got down to Fifth Avenue, Argus was already waiting for us in the camp bus. None of us bothered to ask him how he'd known to be there.

The drive back to camp was not exactly what one could call _cheerful_. None of us even spoke until we'd gotten out of New York City. Annabeth looked too tired to try to talk, Jane was busy brooding and yawning, and I was occupied with my own reflections.

Throughout our journey, I became increasingly and pressingly aware that all this could be very easily blamed on me. After all, it had been my idea to retrieve the ritual in the first place. Then again, what other option had we had? Even if we weren't going to give Tartarus a fake copy of the ritual, surely we would have had to move the thing to make sure he didn't get his shadowy hands on it…

But that didn't matter. The important issue now was going to be _who_ had first put this idea forward - and that was me.

Finally, as our surroundings became decreasingly urban, Jane asked glumly, "So what happens now?"

No-one replied for a long moment, but eventually Annabeth replied, from her seat across from us, "I don't know."

That alone was enough to prove the morbidity of our situation. Annabeth Chase, _the_ daughter of Athena, was telling us that she simply _didn't know_ what was coming. The apocalypse was not necessarily around the corner, but any hope of a happy ending seemed to be quickly spiralling into the abyss.

We said little more for the rest of the journey. None of us really felt like talking, and anyway, we all knew that there'd be a post-mortem camp council held as soon as we arrived. We could save the discussions until then.

The light was slowly fading as we drove along. I couldn't help seeing a kind of morbid symbolism in the way the gentle gloom of dusk settled around us as we returned to announce how badly things had gone. The fall of night was similar to Wilson and Xavier's escape: quiet, calm, almost unnoticeable, but nonetheless undeniable.

I didn't even notice that we were nearing camp until we were right at the foot of the hill. We got off the bus, and made our way up the slope. Peleus, the dragon that guarded the Fleece, glanced up at us half-heartedly, before settling back down to his rest. Gradually, the lights of camp slipped into view below us.

Without speaking, we all paused at the top of the hill to look down upon this sanctuary of heroes.

"It's all so peaceful," Jane murmured, her arms folded against the chill in the night air. "I wonder if it's going to stay that way."

Annabeth cast a sidelong, bemused glance at her.

"Oh, don't worry," she said drily, starting down the hill. "We'll figure something out. We always do. The only variable is the number of things that get blown up in the process."

* * *

We found Chiron on the Big House porch, and the first thing he did upon seeing us was gallop away into camp.

"Uh," I said, as we stood on the porch steps, watching him vanish off towards the cabins. "Did he hear what happened already? Is he getting out of the way of Zeus' lightning strikes?"

"I doubt it," Annabeth murmured, leaning on the wooden fencing. "Maybe he went looking for Rachel?"

We must have looked pretty terrible, because Chiron had actually gone to get a healer. The centaur cantered back to us in no time, bearing one of the older Apollo kids on his back.

"You can tell me what happened later," Chiron said urgently, as he stopped alongside us. "We'll get you checked up first."

Owen was a bright-eyed, tufty-haired son of Apollo who looked like he'd be a lot more comfortable at a rock concert than in a medical bay. I felt glad I didn't need surgery or something, because I found it pretty hard to believe that this guy was one of camp's top healers.

"Wow, you look awful," he told Annabeth reassuringly, as he dismounted from Chiron. "I haven't seen someone this exhausted since Nico shadow-travelled to Siberia."

Annabeth muttered something indistinctly uncomplimentary, as Owen looked her up and down. He murmured a few Ancient Greek words, and frowned as he passed his hand to and fro around Annabeth's head. To the naked eye, he looked ridiculous, but the rippling in the son of Apollo's gold aura showed me that he was drawing on his power.

"You need to rest," he said, more seriously than before. "I don't know how you haven't collapsed before now. Your spiritual energy is almost totally drained." He glanced at me only briefly, before turning to Jane and examining her in the same way.

"Someone hit you pretty hard, your system clearly suffered energic trauma," Owen told her, raising an eyebrow. "But you're not physically injured…? This is unusual. You need to rest, that's the main thing. I'll take them to the infirmary," he said to Chiron. "They'll be mostly fine by lunchtime tomorrow."

The centaur nodded, looking a little relieved as Owen led the two drooping half-bloods into the Big House.

Chiron turned to me then, and I felt a deep sinking sensation in my stomach. It was up to me, then, to tell the story. Maybe that was only fair.

"I assume," the centaur said wearily, rubbing his brow, "that you didn't retrieve the ritual?"

I shook my head, as apologetically as I could manage.

Chiron sighed, and glanced back out across camp. His expression was hard to read, but the look in his eyes showed deep tiredness, the weariness of an eons-old struggle. The trainer of heroes was old, of course - he was ancient, but he didn't usually look it. Now, though, his aged gaze seemed to ask of the universe, how much more?

"I'll call a council," he said finally, looking back at me, somehow with no anger in his manner. "Can you wait here, Cyrus?"

I nodded, and moved to sit in the porch, while Chiron trotted off once again.

* * *

It took another half-hour to assemble the camp counsellors in the rec room. All the important half-bloods turned up, although Rachel and a few of the minor cabin representatives didn't come. Annabeth and Jane weren't there either, of course, and so - as if my day hadn't sucked enough already - Zack Walker was in attendance, as second-in-command of the Athena cabin.

Chiron made me stand next to him at the top of the table, so that everyone could see me clearly when I gave my account. The half-bloods kept glancing at me curiously as they assembled, looking around the room, no doubt wondering where Annabeth was.

It occurred to me, as I watched them group around the ping-pong table, that I was the _last_ person who should be telling them this story. The first person you blame when you hear bad news is often the person you hear it from, and I'd be getting blame enough even without that.

(I wondered if Chiron had a crash helmet I could borrow, in case a couple of the more hotheaded campers decided that the fate of the West depended upon putting my head through the wall.)

Finally, as that sense of dread settled on me like a cloak of lead, Chiron called the council to order.

"You will be wondering why Jane and Annabeth couldn't attend this meeting," he began. Conversations quickly ceased around the room as everyone's attention focussed upon the centaur. "They both sustained slight injuries during the attempt to obtain the Ritual of the Pit from Olympus Library, and are now resting in the infirmary."

Disconcerted whispers passed from half-blood to half-blood. Some of them, like Percy and Alice, looked disconcerted for Annabeth, while others, like Zack and Clarisse, looked rather disturbed by Chiron's use of the word "attempt".

"Cyrus here was also on the mission, as you know," Chiron went on, with the air of one about to do something unpleasant. "I haven't yet heard what happened on Olympus, so he will now tell us what occurred."

Focus quickly shifted onto me. I wondered what they were all thinking about me in that moment - and what they'd be thinking by the time they knew the whole truth.

I took a deep breath and, trying to avoid looking any particular half-blood in the eye, I recounted our little day-trip to Olympus.

No-one had been talking even before I'd begun, but as I told what had happened, the room seemed to grow quieter and quieter. At first many people were only vaguely interested, but when I got to the part about Wilson's sudden arrival (leaving out my discovery of the prophecy), everyone became intensely concentrated upon my story.

"How could he have gotten in, without any clearance?" Zack demanded, his eyebrows raised in angry confusion. "That's impossible."

I explained that Annabeth had forgotten to shut the door, and Wilson had entered before she'd gone back to close it. As I said that, Chiron sighed heavily and suddenly. I paused, glancing at him, but he waved at me to go on.

In the briefest possible terms, I ran through the rest of what had happened. No-one spoke, not even as I explained how Xavier and Wilson had ambushed and overcome us, and how they'd ultimately both escaped. I fell silent as I finished telling of how Wilson had managed to shadow-travel away.

The silence in the room was deafening, and literally everyone seemed to be staring at me. I met no-one's eyes, but pretended to be fascinated by the handle of the ping-pong bat that sat on the table in front of me.

"Thank you, Cyrus," Chiron said, his voice low and full of weariness. "Well, I understand now what happened. I fear that we have made a grave error."

"What do you mean?" Percy asked, folding his arms. The son of Poseidon looked more at his ease now, since I'd explained that Annabeth had not been badly hurt. The imminent apocalypse didn't seem to particularly worry him. I guess he was too experienced with such things to be easily fazed.

Chiron passed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes and brow, as though he could brush away the emotions and troubles that so obviously pressed on him.

"We were tricked," he said flatly, looking quickly from face to face. "The son of Chaos gave us an ultimatum, and we believed that we'd found a way to work around his threat. In truth, we did exactly what he wanted us to do."

I frowned, not understanding, but Zack seemed to get it.

"We opened the door to the Library," he said slowly.

"That's right," Chiron nodded at him. "The son of Chaos knew that we would not simply hand him the ritual, but he also knew that we would have no choice but to go to retrieve it from Olympus Library. There was no way he or any of his minions could enter the archives by themselves, but if one of us were to enter Olympus and open the Library door, it would provide the perfect cover for one of his servants - or, as it turned out, some other agent - to slip in and snatch away the book."

"That makes sense," said Alice Evans suddenly. She'd been standing back from the table, watching, and only now stepped forwards. "The gods would normally be on the watch for intruders, but if a few demigods are coming into Olympus, they wouldn't notice if one or two other people came along behind them."

"So it was all a trick," Zack said darkly, tapping his fingers on the table. "We thought we were outmanoeuvring Tartar— the son of Chaos, but all along he was actually manoeuvring _us_."

There was a pause as we digested this. It made a lot of sense to me, and it made me feel awfully stupid. It was so obvious now, so clear, I felt that I should have seen it myself. Tartarus was turning out to be a far more skilful player of the game than I'd expected, and I felt just plain dumb for underestimating him so much.

"There's just one thing I don't get," Percy said, frowning. "I thought Jake and Xavier are working for Rhea? Why would _they_ be trying to steal the ritual? It doesn't make sense."

Everyone looked to Chiron, who spread his hands before him.

"Most likely, the Rheans are cooperating more closely with the son of Chaos than we realised," he said. "Or perhaps they seek the ritual for their own reasons, and the son of Chaos is allowing them to proceed because their actions will benefit him. It doesn't really matter. Either way, the ritual is gone."

"That's exactly right," Zack said, overly loudly. I looked at him, frowning. His aura was churning angrily about him, and his expression was thunderous. The son of Athena had worked up a head of steam - a literal one, looking at his aura.

"And I have a couple of other questions," he went on, folding his arms and glaring around. "Firstly, how in the name of Zeus Almighty was Jake Wilson able to escape so easily from Olympus?"

"I told you," I answered, before anyone else could speak. "He shadow-travelled."

"He shadow-travelled," Zack echoed, his tone acidic. "And how did he do that, when it's impossible for anyone other than Hades to shadow-travel on or off Olympus?"

"Cyrus said that the son of Erebus stepped off the Olympus mountaintop," Chiron interjected. "The anti-umbrakinesis enchantments only cover the mountain itself, so it is technically possible to shadow-travel in the area just outside of those protections. It would take a great deal of power, but clearly Jake has gained it."

I only half-listened to Chiron, because I was looking at Zack. The son of Athena was rearing to say something else, but he was holding himself back until the centaur had finished. He wasn't really interested in how Wilson had escaped - he was just getting ready to launch into a line of attack. His grey eyes flickered over to me every now and then, and I had a feeling that I knew what he was about to say.

"There's another issue here," Zack said, a tiny moment after Chiron finished. "The fact is, Cyrus, you made a very poor choice in deciding to pursue Jake Wilson rather than the Rhean."

I met his gaze, and tried not to scowl.

"I assumed that someone on Olympus would spot Xavier and stop him. It seemed highly probable to me that he had triggered security measures by taking the book out of the Library," I said formally, trying to keep my tone even. "With that in mind, I decided that it would be better to capture Wilson as well."

"But you _didn't_ capture him, and no-one stopped Xavier," Zack replied promptly - perhaps triumphantly. "I don't question your motives, but I believe your judgement is unavoidably under question, given what has occurred."

I looked away from him, and frowned down at the ping-pong table. I knew, of course, that I hadn't made the smartest choice, but I didn't like that Zack was making all this about me. We needed to be talking about solutions, not looking for people to blame. The problem wasn't that I'd gone after the wrong guy - it was that we'd been tricked and manipulated.

No-one was saying anything, I realised, and for a moment I became intensely aware of how I was the only mortal in the room. Everyone here, they were all part of the world of the gods, they all had skills and powers and strengths that helped them cope, helped them do the right things and make those snap decisions which could mean so much. It wasn't so much the result of my choice that was the question.

It was the way it proved that I wasn't as capable as a half-blood in these urgent, split-second situations.

After a pause, I looked up at Zack.

"I made the decision which I believed to be the right one," I said quietly. "It was a fast-moving situation, and I didn't exactly have time to sit down and draw out a battle plan."

I held Zack's gaze, and he mine, for a long moment. I refused to turn away, but stared into his grey, chilly eyes and mentally dared him to push me further.

"In any case," Chiron said abruptly, making both of us turn to him quickly, "the ritual is now gone. This situation can thus take four courses. One, the Rheans do nothing."

No-one even replied to that, clearly dismissing it as a possibility. Several people laughed, and Alice cocked her head to one side as if to say, really?

"Two, they destroy the ritual," Chiron ploughed on. He seemed anxious to move things out of the realm of argument. "It is possible that they seized the ritual so as to stop the son of Chaos from obtaining it. They do not trust the gods to respond appropriately to the son of Chaos' threat, and perhaps they decided to take the matter into their own hands."

He paused, letting us take that in. I thought it sounded like a strong possibility, and the more optimistic expressions spreading from half-blood to half-blood showed that they agreed. It would certainly explain the mysterious argument Xavier and Chiron had had just before we'd left camp.

"Problem with that," said Leo Valdez, Hephaestus counsellor. "If they really wanted to destroy it, Xavier wouldn't have been so careful to get away safely with the damn thing. He would have burnt it on the spot."

That was frustratingly realistic. I thought of the zeal with which the Rhean priest had fled with the tome. If he'd wanted to destroy the book, he would have put that energy into doing so immediately. He had the power, after all: he'd managed to take down Annabeth with his magic.

"Option three," Chiron went on. I got the feeling that he was leading up to what he _really_ thought was going to happen. "The Rheans hand the ritual over to the son of Chaos."

I frowned. That sure _could_ be true, but it didn't quite fit…

"Can't be," Clarisse said firmly, leaning with one hand on the table. "They wouldn't gain a real advantage from doing that. Tartar— the son of Chaos probably isn't someone to keep promises. As soon as he gains enough power, he'd crush them."

"Exactly," the centaur nodded, looking at her approvingly. "That leaves one final possibility."

We all watched him, waiting for him to say the words, but we all knew what the possibility was. We all knew what was going to happen.

Chiron took a deep breath, and then said, "The fourth option is that the Rheans perform the ritual."

The silence in the room turned icy cold. This was the danger we'd all been thinking about, but hearing it said aloud seemed to make it more present, more real. For a moment, I felt like Tartarus was in the room, standing next to each one of us, resting an ethereal hand of darkness upon our shoulders.

"They will not perform the ritual exactly," Chiron added quickly. "They will alter the magic a little, so that they summon the son of Chaos only partially. That gives them control of the situation. It gives them power."

"How?" Percy asked. His role in the meeting always seemed to be the guy asking questions.

"If you summon something, it is compelled to obey you," the centaur replied. "That's simply how the magic works. The act of invocation binds the entity to the invoker. However, many entities are powerful enough to break through that kind of bond. Thus, the Rheans will summon the son of Chaos, but they will control the ritual to ensure that he does not become sufficiently empowered to break their control."

There was a brief pause as everyone took that in. That had been a lot of words, which some of the less bookish demigods had trouble absorbing. Percy, for instance, initially frowned in kelpish confusion, but his look of puzzlement gradually dissolved into comprehension.

"But why?" he said suddenly, raising his eyebrows. "Why would they do that? What do they get out of it?"

It was Zack who answered that one.

"Disruption," he said, leaning forward. "The Rheans can use the son of Chaos to disrupt the gods. Rhea and her minions want to overturn Olympus. If they summon the ancient personification of shadows and bind him to their control, they have the perfect weapon to unsettle the gods and shake them from their thrones."

With a chill, I thought of the lines from the _prontos profiteia:_ _Only when the shadows themselves rise and fight,/Will Olympus fall to a truly dark night._

"So what do we do?" Alice asked, looking rather depressed, though that wasn't exactly unusual for the foresightful daughter of Apollo. "They have the ritual. We have no idea where they are. They probably have myriad hideouts and sanctuaries. I don't suppose, Chiron, you got a map of all the Rhean refuges in the country when you were negotiating with them?"

The ancient centaur shook his head, a little glumly. "No," he said. "I didn't. Our only option is to try to determine where they might perform the rite, and go there to stop them. Generally, ceremonies of this sort can only be performed at specific locations, and these places are named in the rite's instructions. Did any of you get a look at the text of the ritual?" he asked me.

I thought back.

"Yes!" I said, nodding, feeling less miserable. "Annabeth read at least some of it."

"Good," Chiron said, also looking a touch more hopeful. "Tomorrow we can talk to her properly. Let's hope being knocked out didn't affect her memory too badly."

He shrugged, and clapped his hands together.

"And until then?" Zack asked, darkly. "What do we do, until we know where to go?"

Chiron smiled ruefully, as he looked back at the son of Athena.

"What else?" the trainer of heroes said drily. "We wait."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

_Chiron had insisted we talk about it in the morning, which was kind of like: Hey, your life's in mortal danger. Sleep tight!_

–Rick Riordan, 'Percy Jackson and the Battle of the Labyrinth'

* * *

It was strange to get up the next morning and carry on camp life calmly and casually, as though there was not, in fact, a grave apocalyptic danger hanging over western civilisation.

But then what else _was_ there to do?

My Hermes cabin-mates were understandably curious about my little adventure on the gods' mountaintop home, but I didn't really want to start taking their questions, and I knew that the story would trickle out through camp by the end of the day anyway. So, I answered their queries with the mythological equivalent of a "classified" stamp.

"Chiron told me not to talk about it."

(Technically, he hadn't, but I was working on the assumption that he'd simply forgotten to mention this instruction.)

In any case, when I was having breakfast, I could see, from the disgruntled and confused expressions bore by many demigods, that the story was already rippling out through the layers of camp.

Mr. D was back at Chiron's side this morning, though he hadn't been around last night. The wine dude seemed to be coming and going regularly. I wondered what kind of discussions were going on at Olympus. I couldn't help worrying whether I was on the agenda (probably under the heading of "to-nuke"), but I reminded myself that the gods were most likely too busy fighting each other to care about an insignificant mortal like me.

Hopefully.

This morning's first class was archery. I'm repeating myself, but it felt _really_ odd, going to my classes as though it was just another day, but then I also felt glad of it. It helped to clear my mind and let my thoughts settle down, like sand after a bad desert storm.

Alice Evans was also at the class, as usual. I hadn't understood why she felt the need to take lessons in archery when she was naturally a crack shot, but she and Will had explained to me that godly abilities can start to fade if they aren't kept honed and practiced.

"It's like any other skill," she'd told me. "If I don't use it, I'll eventually get out of practice. The thing with me and other Apollo kids is that we have the skill to begin with, so we don't have to develop it."

Today, however, Alice's mind didn't seem to be on archery. We practiced alongside each other, which didn't exactly make me look good. My bow and arrow skills weren't _too_ terrible, but compared to Alice's consistent and effortless ability to hit any spot at will, I looked like a total rookie.

This was the last thing on Alice's mind. She was far more concerned with discussing some kind of vision she kept getting.

"My foresight keeps sending me back to Rhea's prison, in Alcatraz," she told me, barely even looking as she notched and fired seamlessly. "I don't understand it. Every time I try to look ahead into the future, I see that moment in the past."

"Has that ever happened before?" I asked, looking very hard at what I was doing but failing utterly at this notching and firing seamlessly business.

"Not really," Alice said doubtfully. "I don't know. It's very odd."

I tried to offer some kind of intelligent and thought-provoking analysis, but there was something wrong with my bow and I couldn't seem to get the string taut, so all I managed was a vague, "Mmph."

Then my grip slipped and I nearly shot someone in the leg.

* * *

The next class was a group sword-fighting lesson. This was headed by Clarisse, which made me feel as though I'd been sentenced to death, but Kevin was in the group, which made me feel as though someone had broken into the courtroom at the last minute to deliver a piece of redeeming evidence.

I spent the whole class with the son of Ares, intermittently trying to kill him and trying to answer his questions. He knew most of the story already, but wanted some of the blanks filled in.

I didn't mind so much answering Kevin's questions, because, unlike most people, he didn't ask them in the tone of morbid fascination that you usually hear when people are discussing a dead body. Rather, he spoke with a straightforward journalistic curiosity.

"What about the book itself? Did you get to look at it?" he asked, as I tried and failed to disarm him for about the hundredth time.

"No," I gasped, now working hard to not turn and run away as Kevin unleashed a furious attack. "But Annabeth did. I saw her reading it."

"Hmm," he nodded, frowning in consideration as his sword passed right through my arm. Being a mortal made some aspects of sword-fighting easier, because most of the demigods' weapons couldn't hurt me. They seemed to enjoy this, too, since it allowed them to pull moves which, if used on other half-bloods, would lead to a murder trial.

(I used to gloat over how Kevin couldn't hurt me even though he was a great fighter, but one day he threatened to bring a standard steel sword along to the next lesson and I shut up so fast my tongue whiplashed inside my mouth.)

"There's something strange about all this," Kevin said, shaking his head as I took a breath. "I don't know. We're missing something. Tell me again how Jake escaped."

I explained the son of Erebus's seemingly impossible getaway in as much detail as possible. Then I stayed quiet, letting Kevin think. I was smart at some things, but he was always able to see the angle that I'd missed. We looked at situations in very different ways, and those different perspectives created different insights.

Suddenly, as Kevin was lunging towards me, he stopped short suddenly, and lowered his sword.

"Of course," he breathed, staring down at his blade but not really looking at it. "It's so simple."

"What's that?" I asked curiously. I glanced around uneasily, a little afraid that Clarisse would appear and tell us off for stopping, but she was on the other side of the arena showing some scared-looking Hermes kid how to not get decapitated.

Kevin looked up at me slowly, his brown eyes wide, his features bent by an enigmatic grin.

"God, Cyrus, how can you not see it?" he said, shaking his head. "It's simple."

"Um," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Why don't you explain how simple it is, and we'll go from there?"

He took up a fighting stance again and re-engaged me, making an uncompromising attempt to cut me in half.

"How can Jake have that much power?" he said, as we shuffled about, blades now locked. "Sure, he's a son of Erebus, but not even those kids are _that_ powerful."

I frowned, both in effort and confusion. "I don't know…"

"You told me Jake wasn't happy to see Xavier," Kevin went on, pushing me back a step, our blades still hooked together. "But Jake is meant to be working for Rhea, right? Why wouldn't he be happy to have some reinforcements, especially from someone as formidable as the Rhean high priest?"

"I assumed that he was annoyed Xavier was muscling in on his opportunity to get some glory," I said, tightening my grip on the sword and trying to twist out of our lock. "Rival henchmen, you know? I was too busy focussing on the ritual to think about it more than that."

"Yeah," Kevin agreed, his jaw clenching with effort as he pushed me harder. "Everyone is, that's why you're missing the obvious. Now, if Jake is reacting to a Rhean like that, and he has that impossible level of shadow power, it can only mean one thing."

It was so obvious, I couldn't believe that I hadn't thought of it sooner. Realisation came to me as our swords slipped apart. "He's working for someone else."

"Right," Kevin nodded, slashing down at my legs, making me hop quickly out of the way. "So just think. If he's not working for Rhea, and if he's demonstrating levels of shadow power far beyond his natural powers, and if the personification of shadows itself is rising from his prison, one plus one plus one equals…"

"Three," I whispered, stopping totally and lowering my sword as it hit me. "He's working for Tartarus. He's not Rhea's agent at all."

The sounds of demigods fighting and swords clashing around me seemed to fade away as I processed this. I'd always thought of Wilson as being Rhea's minion - everyone thought that, and for good reason. The son of Erebus had stolen the Flame of Olympus and Pandora's _pithos, _in an attempt to use them to release Rhea from her prison.

But that didn't mean he was _still_ working for her. Maybe he'd been a double agent. Maybe he'd changed sides. Either way, the only full explanation of all the facts was that Jake Wilson was an agent of Tartarus himself.

"How didn't I see this?" I said, almost aghast more at my slowness than at this realisation.

"You were too busy focussing on the ritual," Kevin said wryly.

We didn't talk much for the rest of the lesson. I was too busy chewing this over.

It certainly explained a _lot_. I remembered when Wilson had come to my apartment, earlier in the year, and shown me that memory of his mother dying. At the time, I'd asked him if Rhea had given it to him, and he hadn't given me a proper answer. It was a minor thing, easily forgotten, but it was more proof that he was really Tartarus' agent, not Rhea's.

And somehow, I felt that if Wilson was working with Tartarus, the son of Chaos was a far greater danger than we realised. We weren't just fighting the deadly power of the primordial force: we were also facing the implacable, resentful force that was the son of Erebus.

The class ended soon after, and as Kevin and I walked out of the arena, the half-blood said to me, "But there's something else, too."

I looked at him in surprise. Surely there wasn't _another_ patently obvious truth which I'd missed? My reputation was gonna be shattered at this rate.

"You haven't told me everything," he went on, eyeing me carefully, even as he wiped his face with a towel. "What else happened, in the Library?"

I'd told no-one about finding the _prontos profiteia_, not even the son of Ares. It wasn't something I was ready to think about properly, let alone discuss. No-one was really interested in anything except the current apocalyptic crisis at the moment, anyway, but my friend always looked at a bigger picture than most.

I debated denying everything, but I couldn't lie to Kevin. If he wanted to know, I would tell him.

"I found the prophecy," I said flatly, before giving myself an excuse to not talk by taking a long drink from my water bottle. Kevin lowered his towel slowly, and looked at me carefully, as though making sure I wasn't lying.

"The _prontos profiteia_?" he asked. "_That_ prophecy? The one Jake told you about?"

I nodded, dropping the bottle in a heap of similarly emptied ones and turning to step out of the arena. He moved with me, and we headed for the dining pavilion - it was nearing lunchtime.

Kevin didn't say anything for a long moment. His face was unreadable. I could barely imagine what strategic thoughts were passing through his mind.

(I say _strategic_, because he seemed to think about everything through the prism of logistical realities. That was often very effective for him, though like any way of thinking, it had its downsides.)

"Did it say what you thought it would?" he asked me finally.

I was surprised by the question, but it was a good one. I thought for a moment, ignoring the sound of the conch shell being blown and the bustle of the lunch-seeking demigod missiles around us. It had been obviously a surprise to find the prophecy so easily, but when I really considered it, the contents of it hadn't been that much of a shock.

"Not really," I said finally, walking along slowly. "Some of it I'd more or less guessed. It said—"

"No," Kevin said abruptly. He stopped suddenly, and grabbed my arm to make me stop, too. I looked him in the eye, confused. His expression was tense, but he wasn't angry, simply urgent.

"Cyrus," he said slowly, his tone low, "I've read about these prophecies. They're dangerous. Some people try to stop them, but they just make them come true. Other people try to live them out, and they cause things they never even imagined to happen."

I frowned, not seeing his point. "What's your point?"

"My point," Kevin said seriously, glancing around us briefly to check that no-one was listening to us, "is that I think - but this is just what I think - I think you should pretend you never read that prophecy."

"Uh," I said slowly, eyeing him. "But I did read it."

"I know," he said, trying not to laugh at my expression, despite his seriousness. "But if you do anything according to that prophecy, if you do something you wouldn't normally do because of what you _think_ the prophecy means, things could go badly wrong."

"But maybe knowing the prophecy will help me make the right decision," I argued.

"Maybe," Kevin nodded, letting go of me. "Or maybe not. All I know, Cyrus, is that you can't do _anything_ because a prophecy told you to. Any action you take, you can _only_ do if you believe in it."

* * *

I was pretty hungry after a morning's training, and I finished my lunch fast. That left me with some time before my next class, so I decided to go visit Annabeth and Jane in the infirmary. I headed to the Big House.

Considering that you were more likely to get injured at Camp Half-Blood than at probably any other summer camp in existence, I couldn't help thinking that the infirmary was awfully low-tech. Then again, I suppose when you have a team of godly children with magical healing abilities, you can dispense with most of the trappings of a mortal medical unit.

(The fact that half-bloods could heal incredibly quickly once they had a little nectar and ambrosia probably helped, too.)

To my surprise, though, I found only Annabeth in the infirmary. There wasn't even a child of Apollo in attendance: it was just the daughter of Athena, dozing in a bed in the corner.

I approached her bedside carefully. I realised, as I did so, that I'd never really talked to Annabeth on her own that much. Sure, I had lessons and so on, but that was different. When she was giving a class, she had an intensely teacherly manner that entirely deterred any normal conversation.

I pulled over a chair gently, trying not to scrape it on the floor. Annabeth was sitting up, propped up by a heap of pillows, but her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow as she hovered somewhere between deep sleep and wakefulness. I was about to murmur something indistinct so as to wake her properly, but right then, Annabeth's grey eyes flickered open.

"Oh," she murmured, upon seeing me. "Hi."

"Hello," I nodded, tapping my hands on my knees.

Annabeth shifted around for a moment, adjusting her sheet and straightening up. She looked a lot better than the previous night, and her aura had returned to its usual vivacity.

"I wasn't really asleep," she told me as she rubbed her eyes. "It's just that Percy was here earlier, and I wanted some quiet to think, but he wouldn't go away, so I pretended to need more rest."

"Ah," I nodded again, trying not to laugh. Percy Jackson often put me in mind of a large, reassuringly protective bear, particularly in relation to Annabeth.

"I was surprised that Xavier could take me down like that," she went on, folding her arms with a reflective air. "I think he used some kind of magic to interfere with my aura."

I started in surprise. "You know about auras?"

"Of course," Annabeth said, yawning. "Not a lot, of course. Hardly anyone can see them, so it's hard to study them properly. Your aura is linked into your soul, that's why Nico can— could use his powers to reveal them. An aura can be attacked sometimes, if the right kind of magic is used. I guess Rhea taught Xavier a thing or two."

I thought about explaining my own aura-seeing abilities, but I knew that would side-track us into a lengthy discussion about something which really didn't matter right now.

"So, I was talking to Kevin," I said, after a pause. "He had this idea…"

I explained the realisation we'd had, that Wilson was working for Tartarus and not for Rhea. Annabeth's eyes widened a little, and she sat up straighter as I spoke. Her aura rippled around her head with an air of eagerness, presumably as ideas chimed through her mind.

"Of course," she said quickly, as I finished. "And you know what this means? It means Tartarus was using Rhea, just like the Rheans are going to try to use him."

"Huh?"

"Chiron dropped by earlier, and told me what you all worked out about the Rheans and the ritual," Annabeth explained briskly. "The Rheans are going to use the son of Chaos against the gods, right?"

"Yeah."

"So they'll use the invocation of an ancient being to their own ends, but I think that Tartarus was doing the same thing," she went on, leaning forward in the bed. "The son of Chaos is old, really old, right? There's going to be all sorts of energies and powers imprisoning him. But when one powerful being breaks out of a prison, it causes ripple effects, like when Kronos rose from the pit of Tartarus. His emergence helped some of the Titans break out of their prisons, and it also roused the giants. The son of Chaos knows this, and he decides that if he can bring about the rise of another, similarly powerful being, it will cause enough disruption to shake his own bonds."

"Okay," I said, trying to keep up with Annabeth's lightning-fast thoughts.

"The problem is, he doesn't want to release something that's powerful enough to really threaten him," Annabeth said, growing more animated as the ideas lined up. "So he uses Jake, his main agent in this world, to help a minor group like the Rheans."

"Oh, wow, I see," I said, rubbing my eyes. I was beginning to understand that things were a lot more complex - and went a lot deeper - than had ever occurred to me. "Rhea's a Titan, so breaking her out would cause a lot of disturbance, but she's not a major deity, so she can't really challenge the son of Chaos."

"Exactly," Annabeth said, adjusting her hair thoughtfully. "But the plan didn't work out. Nico and Alice stopped Jake, and Rhea wasn't fully released."

"So the son of Chaos didn't get the disturbance he needed."

"And that's why he needs the ritual," the daughter of Athena finished. "He's behind schedule, so he had to go to Plan B."

We sat in silence for a long moment, reflecting on the sheer ingenuity of this primordial force. He obviously hadn't been letting his mind wither, even during the eons down there in the dark. I wondered how long he'd been plotting and planning his rise. How many gambits and contingency strategies did he have? Was it even _possible_ for us to outwit him?

"There's still the problem of the ritual itself, of course," Annabeth said, more subdued now. She sat back in the bed. "Chiron asked me if I saw the location for the rite in the book, but I didn't get to read very much of it. I only scanned the first three pages, which were just preamble and philosophising. Whoever wrote the text seemed to enjoy describing how terrible and evil the son of Chaos is."

"You must have read something helpful…" I said, without much enthusiasm. It felt like we were heading straight into yet another brick wall.

"There was a note near the end of the introduction," she said, after a long moment of thought. "Something about only performing the ritual in the place where you are most powerful."

I sighed heavily. Why did everything have to be written in riddles? It was like the whole world of Greek mythology was designed to make everything into a long-winded drama. Sometimes, it felt like there was someone, somewhere, deliberately finding ways to make my life more uncertain and complicated.

"I know this for sure," Annabeth reflected, plucking at a loose thread on her sheet. "The Rheans will perform the ritual on the winter solstice. The gods are at their weakest then, and everything that is dark will be at their strongest."

"Great," I said dully, unsurprised by this. "It's a shame they didn't steal the ritual in the summer. At least that would have given us some time. You gotta love deadlines."

(Especially the literal kind.)

"The place where you are most powerful," Annabeth murmured, not listening to me. "Where is that? Where would the Rheans be strongest?"

"Looking at Xavier, I'd say he'd be pretty happy at a cosplay convention," I muttered.

"If you're a group of worshippers who's empowered by a particular being, you'd be strongest where that being is strongest, wouldn't you?" she went on, leaning forward in the bed again. "It stands to reason. So where is _Rhea_ strongest?"

I tried to think of something helpful, but I was feeling a little oppressed by it all. It seemed to be just one problem after the next, Nothing had ever been calm since I'd come to camp. It had all started with the theft of the Flame of Olympus, and had gone downhill from—

The Flame of Olympus.

Duh.

"You said that Rhea wasn't fully released," I said slowly, as a revelation began to reverberate through my mind.

"Yeah," Annabeth nodded vaguely.

"Then that means part of her is still in her prison," I said, talking carefully as though the idea might break apart before I understood it fully. "A lot of her power would still be concentrated in the place where she's held."

Annabeth's eyes widened as she understood what I was saying. She hurled the covers off her and literally jumped out of bed.

"Of course," she muttered, starting to pace around. "If she wasn't released, her presence will still be strongest at her prison. And where her presence is strongest…"

"She's at her most powerful," I finished.

Annabeth nodded quickly, and looked at me with amazement at this development.

"You know what this means?" she said.

"What?"

Annabeth turned to her bedside table. She picked up her sheathed dagger and drew it, inspecting the blade.

"It means," she said, as she eyed the sharp edge carefully, "that if we're going to stop the Rheans and get the ritual back, we have to follow in Nico's footsteps. We have to go to Alcatraz."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

_"__No good deed ever goes unpunished."_

_"__Well, it's always satisfying to do the right thing."_

_"__I'm not so sure."_

–Gore Vidal, 'Washington D.C.'

* * *

Looking about me with scared, wide eyes, I stepped carefully into the Camp Half-Blood woods.

After our little brain-storming session, Annabeth had told me that Jane had been discharged from the infirmary just before lunch.

"I don't know where she went," she'd said, with a slight frown of concern. "She didn't seem quite the same. Something's gnawing at her. You should go find her."

It was with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I'd nodded, and wandered off into camp.

I hadn't seen Jane at lunch. Nor had I passed her on the way to the infirmary. It took some deductive thinking to figure out where she'd be. She wouldn't be training, because she didn't like doing any outside lessons. She definitely wouldn't be at the armoury or the forge; nor the climbing wall, because that was turned off when it was unattended. I checked the lake and the arts and crafts hall, but there was no sign of her.

That, unfortunately, left only the woods.

I didn't like going into what I called the Black Woods, for two reasons. The first was that I had bad memories associated with the place: we'd so nearly won that goddamn game of capture-the-flag against the Hunters, something that seemed to grow only _more_ irritating with the passage of time, rather than less.

The second reason was that apparently this place held monsters. Actual monsters. Like, ones that could kill, dismember and eat you - not necessarily in that order. Chiron used the phenomenally euphemistic term "stocked" to refer to the way the woods were sometimes inhabited by teenager-eating, bloodthirsty, violent, ruthless monsters.

Of course, this wasn't supposed to bother me, because I was a mortal and no monsters care about mortals, right? And anyway, I was a trained and honed monster-slayer from my time at camp, right?

Somehow, though, that didn't really make me feel relaxed. When I thought of the woods, I just couldn't get this image of being messily devoured out of my head. Maybe that's irrational, but I have this weird fixation about keeping my bones ungnawed.

Luckily for my (mildly neurotic) fears, I didn't have to stray too deep into the Black Woods because I found Jane only a few feet inside the tree line. The daughter of Nyx was just strolling along casually, hands in her pockets, as though she was going for a walk in sunny Central Park, rather than in a monster-infested forest.

"Oh, hi," she said, stopping as I approached.

"Hi," I said, trying not to trip over a particularly thick tree root. "What's up?"

"The sky," Jane replied seriously, nodding up at it. "And the tree branches. How about you?"

"Oh, nothing much," I shrugged, stopping in front of her. "Kevin and I realised that Jake Wilson is actually working for Tartarus, and then Annabeth worked out that the Rheans are going to perform the ritual at Alcatraz. Pretty quiet morning, really."

Jane's mouth gaped, as she took all that in. I eyed her in the brief pause. She looked rested and calmed now, with no signs of that unsettled air she'd had after Wilson knocked her out. Still, there was something else in Jane's eyes, something that had been there since she'd arrived to fight the spectres. I still couldn't quite understand what it was, but I was determined to find out.

"How did you work that out?" she asked. "About Jake?"

I turned, and began strolling through the trees. Jane followed, her hands still in her pockets. I noticed, too, that she didn't have her sword. Hell, I didn't know she was suicidal.

"It's obvious, really," I explained. "When you think about the way he was acting in the Library, there's no way that Wilson's still working for Rhea. When you put that together with how he has way more shadow power than is demigodly possible, the truth is clear. After all, I know of only one other evil megalomaniacal mythological entity he could be working for."

"I see," Jane nodded, hopping over a fallen log. We walked on for a few feet, before she asked, "But how _does_ he have that much power, do you think?"

"I think Tart— the son of Chaos gave it to him somehow," I said, ducking under a low-hanging bough. "It surely can't be that difficult for something like the son of Chaos to pass a little of his power to a half-blood who is already very skilled with shadow-energy."

Jane didn't say anything in reply, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression alter, her eyebrows quirking. Her gait became a little stiffer, as though her mind was momentarily elsewhere.

"What about the ritual?" she asked, after a long moment. "How did Annabeth figure that one out?"

I explained the train of thought that had led the daughter of Athena to that realisation. As I went through it, Jane's expression and aura seemed to grow a little darker, though it may have only been the light dimming as, overhead, the sun went behind a cloud.

"So she said she'd go tell Chiron, while I found you," I finished, edging around an icy patch of ground. "I guess there'll be another council later."

"Another council…" Jane echoed. "I really get tired of those things."

I nodded mutely, but didn't speak. I sensed that she was about to say something else, something revealing, and I didn't want to divert her onto an irrelevant point.

I glanced to my left. We were walking parallel to the tree-line, so camp was still fully visible on our left. Shouts and clatters of activity were intermittently sounding across the sun-sodden camp, as demigods trained and learnt, becoming whatever it was they chose to be. I wondered how many of the godly children actually intended to be _heroes_, in the truest sense of the word. Some did, no doubt about it, but others probably just wanted an ordinary life, while others still wanted something even more dangerous than being a hero.

"So the gods will be happy now, huh?" Jane said suddenly, her pace slowing a little. "This is what they want, right?"

"Yeah," I said, eyeing her cautiously. Her tone was… chilly. Bitter. Surprisingly so. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Sure," Jane said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "It's not like it's a surprise, anyway. The gods always get what they want."

We walked on in silence. I was reminded of the silence that had fallen over us back in the Library, after Annabeth had left us. This time, though, I was determined not to let things slip away from me.

"What happened, Jane?" I asked quietly, not looking at her directly.

She said nothing for a long time. The sun shone above us, the breeze blew around us, and the trees shivered on all sides. I could have been walking on my own, for all that Jane said. With every second that passed, it seemed increasingly certain that she wasn't going to answer me, but I still didn't say anything. If she didn't engage in any dialogue, I knew there was nothing I could do.

Then, Jane spoke.

"It wasn't long after I went back to school," she said quietly. I glanced at her cautiously: her eyes were downcast, and her aura was still. "We were just out walking, like this. I hadn't been spending a lot of time with him, between school and camp, so it was nice to just have some time without any interruptions. We fed the birds, sat looking at the ducks fighting over the crumbs, bought ice-cream. It was nice to have some peace, alone with my dad.

"Then, as we were walking near the woods, it appeared.

"It was so big, but it came out of nowhere. It was only afterwards I realised it was a hydra. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have my sword, and I couldn't concentrate hard enough to shadow-travel because I was so terrified. I tried to keep the monster's attention on me, but it hurt my dad pretty badly. Eventually I managed to get us away, but he was injured. Ambrosia is no good for mortals, as you know, so I had to take him to the hospital.

"The doctors told us afterwards that if I hadn't gotten him medical attention when I did, he would've died."

Jane stopped abruptly, and leaned a shoulder against a tree. I stopped, too, and watched her.

"But luckily, he was okay in the end," she went on, staring vacantly at nothing in particular. "Thanks to me…"

Then Jane looked up, her gaze fierce as she stared me in the eye.

"Where were the gods, then?" she said, straightening up. "Where was my mother? Where were the Olympians? They weren't there because they didn't care to be. The gods don't help me, Cyrus. They put me in danger, they create conflicts and battles which people like you and me get killed in, but they're never hurt, and they never help. Cyrus, Chiron is going to tell us that we should be _happy_ that we can stop the Rheans from summoning Tartarus, but I'm not going to believe him. Maybe the Titans are bad, maybe Rhea is bad, maybe Tartarus is bad, but I don't see how anyone can be _worse_ than the gods."

Jane fell silent, the torrent of anger ceasing to flow out as she ran out of words.

I swallowed, a little shakily. I could barely imagine what that had been like for Jane. I'd seen a hydra once devour a half-blood in Central Park, but the horror of it was inevitably lessened because I hadn't known the victim. I knew if something similar were to ever happen to my parents, I'd be equally - or even more - angry.

But at the same time, I saw that blaming the gods for things like this was pointless. We called the Olympians gods, but they weren't omnipresent or omniscient like the God of the Abrahamic religions. They were just as flawed and just as prone to error as any mortal or demigod who'd ever walked the earth.

But I knew, too, that I couldn't make my friend see things that way.

"I understand, Jane," I said finally, trying very hard to not sound condescending. "Really, I do."

Jane rubbed her eyes swiftly, sweeping away any tears that threatened to fall. She turned, so that she was facing me, with her back to the tree.

"I know _you_ do, Cyrus," she said, looking at me with dark eyes that seemed to be losing their light. "But does anyone else?"

A bird crowed loudly, high in the branches above us, before taking flight into the sharply cold air beyond the trees. The sounds of snapping twigs and rustling leaves echoed, from far away, through the woods. Somewhere in the distance behind me, swords clashed and scraped incessantly, like some kind of harsh machine.

"This is what it's all about, Jane," I said, not looking away from her shaking gaze. "This is part of what demigods _are_. There's a reason why this camp exists."

"Yeah," Jane replied, with an angry twitch of her head. "But if this is what being a half-blood means, I don't want to be one."

"Of course you don't!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. "Who wants this? What about me? You think I _want_ to be the goddamn _Lightbringer_? You think I want to have pure sight? I can't go anywhere, Jane, without seeing something weird or disturbing or confusing. You think I want that? Do you think I _like_ it? Of course I don't, but this is what I _am_. That's part of what makes me Cyrus Wright, and I can't change it."

Jane looked back at me, silent, her face unreadable.

(Looking back, maybe I should have tried instead to plead with her, tried to negotiate her out of her anger, instead of being adversarial. Maybe that would have been more successful.

But that just isn't the way I do things. It's not who I am.)

"You can't change yourself into someone else," I told her. "All you can do is make choices, and try to make sure they're ones you won't regret."

I fell silent, and folded my arms. Jane looked away from me, and glared out at camp, her eyebrows contracting into a frown that showed a great confusion of emotions. Her aura was like a small storm around her, filled with eddies and currents of different speeds, shades and directions. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, as she thought and felt.

Another bird rustled in the trees nearby, and somewhere in camp, someone yelled out in what could have been victory, or pain.

Jane spoke.

"You're right, Cyrus," she said, looking down at her shoes, then up at me. "I can't change who I am. I can't become something else. All I can do - all I can ever do - is become something more."

Then, without another word, she pushed past me, and walked back into camp.

* * *

I walked back to the Hermes cabin slowly, thinking. I'd let Jane go: there wasn't anything else I could say to her, not when she obviously didn't want to listen. There are some things that are a simple struggle within a human being between what they want and what they need.

Now, I was thinking about what lay ahead. It was Friday, and the winter solstice was on Monday. For the next couple of days, the demigods would all be preparing to enter into battle with the Rheans and the son of Chaos. Despite Zack's doubts over my abilities, Chiron would probably still want me to be part of the cavalry that would storm Alcatraz on the 21st. After all, pure sight is too rare a power to be left unused.

The thing was, I didn't know if I wanted to be here with the would-be heroes as they prepared. I always felt a little out of place, but never more so when camp was fully focussed on a matter of great mythological importance. I needed a break, to clear my head.

With that in mind, I went to sit on the Big House's porch and wait for the inevitable council to assemble.

The meeting convened about half an hour later. Annabeth had gone straight to Chiron after talking with me, but it had taken some time for the centaur to hurry around camp telling all the counsellors what was going on.

We had the full contingent of demigods this time, along with Rachel and me, rather than the miniature council which we'd had last night. I kept back from the ping-pong table, staying in a corner, watching everyone come in. It was interesting to compare everyone's expressions with how they'd looked in the first and second meetings. The general atmosphere at our initial meeting had been one of interest and excitement; at the second it had been interest and worry, while now they all seemed to be just wondering what the hell to expect next.

Fewer glances were cast my way than usual. Some of those that did look at me - especially the people who I didn't really know - seemed doubtful and distrustful, as though I were an unpredictable force who might be a danger.

With a touch of anger, it occurred to me that Zack had probably been spreading the notion that I was a less than effective member of the team. This idea didn't exactly put me in a good mood, but I pushed it to one side and listened as Chiron explained about Jake Wilson, Tartarus and the Rheans.

There were a few questions, but the overall response to the information was relief. Percy was particularly pleased, pointing out that Alcatraz being an island - and thus surrounded by water - his powers could come in very useful if we got in a bind.

(I was tempted to make the point that a half-blood saying _if_ we get in a bind is a hopelessly optimistic statement, similar to a soldier in the trenches at the Battle of the Somme saying _if_ I get shot, but then I remembered that this was Percy Jackson talking.)

"The ritual will be best begun at twilight, the moment when the forces of light and darkness are in balance," Chiron said, wrapping up his explanation. "So we will need to arrive at Alcatraz by late afternoon. Jane, will you be able to shadow-travel a team of, say, ten or twelve people?"

The daughter of Nyx nodded. "Yeah. I'd have to do it in two groups, but sure."

I glanced at Jane briefly, not wanting to catch her eye. Her expression was calm, as though her conversation with me hadn't happened, but I knew her. Jane was perfectly capable of sidelining emotion until she'd dealt with a pressing task - but that didn't mean her feelings changed.

"Normally, I would suggest that younger members of camp lead the mission, but the gravity of the situation calls for experience," Chiron continued. "Percy, Annabeth and Clarisse, you will direct operations throughout the preparation for and execution of this task."

He went on to tell the three of them which aspect of the mission they were to focus on. Annabeth was obviously in charge of strategy, while Clarisse and Percy were essentially co-generals. None of the demigods seemed surprised to be handed these posts - they were just focussed on the task

"Annabeth, you will select your strike team," the centaur told her. "I have some recommendations, but the final decision is up to you."

He named off various half-bloods, including Olivia Hartnell, Leo Valdez, Zack Walker, and of course—

"—Cyrus Wright, who can use his pure sight to help us bypass any illusions or concealments," Chiron said. He turned to me. "Anything to add, Cyrus?"

Well, here we were. Time for my little announcement.

I stepped forward, so that everyone could see me clearly. The half-bloods eyed me warily.

"Thanks for the recommendation, Chiron," I said evenly. "Annabeth, I'll do whatever I can to help if you pick me for the team."

Annabeth nodded at me, while Percy gave me a thumbs-up. They, along with Clarisse, seemed to be entirely on my side. I guess experience breeds tolerance.

I paused, taking a breath before continuing.

"But?" Alice Evans, who stood near me, muttered. "There's a but in there."

"Yeah," I said, glancing around at everyone. "You'll all be preparing and training a lot over the next few days, and that's okay for you guys because, you know, you're demigods. I'm only a mortal, though. More training won't do much for me at this stage, and I really need to clear my head."

A lot of people looked confused at this, but Chiron seemed to understand immediately.

"What do you need, Cyrus?" he asked.

"I need," I said slowly, doing my best to avoid sounding petulant, "I mean, I'll come back to help, but for the weekend, I need to leave camp. There's been a lot going on this week, there'll be plenty more going on next week, and I need, just for now, to go home."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

_Hank: I've been thinking about that job more and more lately. Maybe I should've enjoyed it more. Tagging trees is a lot better than chasing monsters._

–'Breaking Bad'

* * *

I made my way through the streets of Staten Island, heading for my home.

Chiron, though a little surprised by my request, had granted it without argument. The demigods had been rather more taken aback, but they were far too concerned with the potential apocalypse to give my decision more than a moment's thought.

(No doubt Zack would get great ammunition from my temporary departure, but I didn't really care.)

The meeting had wrapped up soon after that, and I'd spoken to a few people before heading back into the city, driven by Argus. The bus had dropped me off just outside Manhattan, and I'd made my way from there.

The sky overhead was darkening, as the sun slipped down below the horizon. The clouds had cleared earlier in the day, leaving a cold, clear vista. The soft, warm glow of twilight filled everything now, in a calming sort of way, as though the sun was trying to reassure us all that it was only going away for a little while, that it would return soon. As the great glowing orb slowly slid out of view, it was easy to see why so many ancient peoples had viewed the great star as some kind of god.

My thoughts were occupied with all things to do with gods, too, though they weren't as cheerily reassuring as the twilight. I was actively ignoring Kevin's advice - I was thinking about and analysing the _prontos profiteia_.

(I understood the advice he'd given me, sure, but I just couldn't stick to it. It was like telling myself to not think about elephants: all it did was make me think about it even more.)

So, as I walked, I went through each line of the prophecy.

I'd made sure to memorise it carefully - I'd look like a true idiot if I'd read the damn prophecy and promptly forgotten it. It would be sort of like reading the nuclear missile launch codes and soon after mistaking them for lottery numbers.

The first couple lines were obvious. _Ancient foes will once more rise, but will once more fall,/For the strength of the West will outlast them all. _Plenty of people had told me about the recent wars with the Titans and Gaia. They were ancient foes, and the gods had beaten them. Apparently the Oracle had wanted to make it abundantly clear that the gods would be facing old enemies, because the next two lines had been, _Past battles will again be waged,/And again the gods will not be caged._

It was only in the next lines that it started to get interesting: _Only when the shadows themselves rise and fight,/Will Olympus fall to a truly dark night._

Now, I was no Greek mythology scholar, but it seemed awfully likely that the prophecy was referring to, you know, the _personification_ of shadows, Tartarus himself. The sheer power over darkness that Tartarus had shown back at the Edge of the West was enough to convince me that he was the Big Bad Wolf which the prophecy was warning of. The idea that there was some _other_ evil god-hating shadow-monster was incredibly unlikely.

With that in mind, the next lines weren't exactly encouraging. _True power, the darkness will gain,/While the gods shall face eternal pain._

Now, normally I'd be happy to call this an overdramatic, pessimistic exaggeration, but the fact that the prophecy confidently said that the gods would face down their old enemies made this prediction of doom seem a lot more credible. If the Oracle had been just trying to make things sound bad for the Olympians, she wouldn't have been so clear on the whole "outlast them all" thing, right?

Anyway, this little bit of foretelling sure explained the gods' lack of action against Tartarus in the last few months. A bunch of prideful, bickering nimrods like the Olympians would naturally be thrown into confusion by such a grave danger. Hell, they'd probably only managed to defeat the Titans and giants because they'd been _told_ they would do it.

(Don't worry, I didn't say that out loud.)

As I drew within a few blocks of my house, I thought about the next lines, the lines which seemed to be about me.

_But the one with the gift of unhindered sight,/Will hold the power to unveil the hidden light._

I tried to come up with some way to convince myself that this wasn't referring to me, but it was like trying to convince myself that Hades was Santa Claus. Maybe the prophecy _was_ just talking about some poor mortal with plain ol' clear sight, but then why would it say _the one_, as though there was just _one_ schmuck wandering around with this 'unhindered sight'? Maybe the prophecy was talking about some doomed guy who had a gift of sight that was stronger than mine, but Amichanos, spirit of knowledge, had told me that my pure sight could pierce through _any_ illusion. I can't really think of a gift of sight stronger than that, unless we start getting into X-Men territory.

And hey, what better way to fight a master of shadows like Tartarus than to have a mortal who can - in theory, at least - see through whatever psycho voodoo mind tricks the son of Chaos could pull?

I didn't know what this "hidden light" was supposed to be, but given the cryptic nature of prophecies, it was probably a symbol for the defeat of Tartarus.

So, basically this meant that me and my sight were the keys to defeating the apocalyptic rise of a malevolent, ruthless shadow monster that would otherwise crush the Olympians.

No pressure, huh?

(Still, I guess I ought to take it as a compliment that me, a mortal, was apparently getting this job. I guess the Fates didn't think a half-blood would be up to the task.)

The last lines just reinforced and clarified everything that I'd already worked out: _And only he who stands alone in a crowd,/Can be the weaver of the shadows' shroud._

As I turned the corner onto my street, I did my best to not identify with the "alone in a crowd" thing, but it was like trying to convince myself that I was a sporty extrovert. I could think of at least two ways I was alone in a crowd: after all, what's a mortal in a camp of demigods? And what's a mortal who can see things like no-one else?

At least the last line was very clear. There's only one way to interpret "weaver of the shadows' shroud".

This, then, was my destiny - or at least it was one destiny which I could live out. Something in me rebelled against the idea that these things were certain, preordained, unchanging. What was the difference, really, between a prophecy and a weather forecast? Surely they could be equally wrong?

I fumbled in my pocket for my key as I drew near my front door. The sun had almost fully set, its direct light now gone, replaced now by that dusky, faint ambience which comes before the deeper darkness of night. The sun was gone from sight, but somehow its light seemed to linger, as though it was clinging on, fighting against its inevitable disappearance.

The shutters were down on my dad's shop. He usually closed up by seven. I opened the door, glanced briefly up and down the street, and stepped inside.

The distant, tinny sounds of people talking on TV came down the stairs as I took off my shoes. I tried to put any thoughts of the prophecy to one side as I headed upstairs. I'd come home to get away from all that, not to obsess over it.

The landing was creaky as I moved to the sitting room door, which was ajar. For a brief moment, a worried thought crossed my mind, and I wondered what the half-bloods would really think of me abandoning them just as they were getting into the swing of battle preparations. Would it finally convince them that I didn't belong, that I was a mortal who had no place in their world?

But then, I reflected, just before pushing open the door, it was only inevitable that they'd come to that conclusion. After all, regardless of whatever the prophecy said, that was the truth. The real question was how they would react to it.

My parents were sitting on the couch, watching the TV. My dad looked around as he heard the door open, and immediately got up, surprised.

"Cyrus!" he exclaimed. "Is everything okay? We didn't think we'd see you for another day or two."

"Everything's okay," I said, nodding in what was hopefully a reassuring manner, and sitting down in one of the armchairs that were positioned at a right angle to the couch and TV. "Nothing's gone wrong - well, things _have_ gone wrong, but we— they have everything under control. I just needed a break."

"Did you get in a fight?" my mom asked, her eyes narrowed a little, as though she was ready to stare down anyone who had dared to mess with me.

"Um," I said, glancing briefly at the TV, and back at my parents. My dad had sat back down. "Does chasing a Rhean high priest and an agent of Tartarus around Olympus Library count as a fight?"

It was usually quite hard to surprise or faze my parents with any mythological revelations, since a mysterious Visitor had come and told them most of my future shortly before I was born.

(In fact, conversations with my parents about anything to do with the Greek world usually left me feeling more confused and uneasy than them. It never failed to amaze me how this Visitor had told my parents so much about the mythological universe, and how much knowledge of my future that they had but were forbidden to give me. It was like talking to someone about a book, when they know how it ends and you don't. There's this constant knowing look in their eye, as though they know what you're going to say before you say it.)

It seemed, however, that the omniscient Visitor had not covered every possible detail of my future in the Greek world, so my parents had no implausible foreknowledge of my visit to the Library. They both stared at me in disbelief.

Having dropped that bombshell, I naturally had to tell the whole story. I recounted my little skirmish with the rogue ghosts outside the Empire State Building, and all the important events since then. I gave all the details, though I was slightly afraid that my parents would tell me off for making the mistake of running after Wilson instead of Xavier, but they seemed to be more interested in hearing me describe Mount Olympus itself.

"That's amazing," my mother said thoughtfully, as I finished describing the Library (for the third time). "Can you imagine what kind of stories are hidden away there?"

Finally I wrapped up my own story, and waited to hear what my parents had to say.

We sat in silence for a while, watching various uninspiring, unentertaining faces flicker by on the glowing TV screen. It was unbelievable how so many people with so much resources were capable of doing so little. It was like there was some kind of inverse square law that decreed that the easier it was to do something productive, the less likely it was that something worthwhile would be even conceived.

"Well, Cyrus," my dad said finally, as he changed the channel with an air of disappointed resignation, "I think you're doing just fine."

"I am?"

"Sure you are," he nodded, turning the sound down and looking at me. "Don't worry too much about this god, or that deity, or this unstoppably powerful mythological being, or that other incredibly important ritual. Look, it's easy to get wrapped up in the drama and the importance of everything, but that distracts you from what's important."

"And what's important?"

"I think you know," my dad said, with a grin. He really liked his guessing games.

I frowned, thinking. My parents had told me many things over the years, so it was awfully easy to lose track of whichever piece of incomprehensibly important advice I needed to remember at any given moment. Still, there were a few recurring themes among the vast acres of golden pearls of wisdom, and one of these themes pushed its way to the top of my mind.

"It's important," I said, "to focus on doing the most productive thing, at any time, whatever that is."

My dad nodded, pleased. I couldn't help wondering if he'd nod in just the same way if I'd dug up one of the other innumerable nuggets of guidance buried somewhere in my memories.

"Don't ask yourself, what will the gods think?" he went on, crossing his arms in a manner which suggested the commencement of a dissertation. "Don't ask, what will the half-bloods think, or whether they'll like you, or not. Never forget, Cyrus, that you really are just a mortal, so it doesn't matter that much what the gods think of you. The only reason you're even on the Olympians' radar is because of a prophecy that was made by forces far beyond any of us, so it's not about you on a personal level. That's good, because it means you can make choices without even considering factors that might normally make a huge difference to a half-blood. You're independent in a way which no-one else is, in this Greek world."

He paused, frowning a little, as though trying to rediscover the point of this speech. It came back to him abruptly, and he finished, "So just focus on the best and most productive thing to do. Don't worry about anything else. In the end, everyone will thank you for it."

My dad fell silent with the same air of finality with which he'd begun. He turned back to the TV and changed the channel again.

My mother waited a few moments before throwing her own life-changing advice into the frothing stew of knowledge.

"Your father's right, Cyrus," she began, using that age-old, obligatory opener. "You have to avoid being distracted. But the same goes for your own feelings and emotions. You can't let any feeling, even your fear, govern your judgement. Most of the problems in the world are caused because people don't make decisions in a reasoned, logical way. It doesn't matter how strongly you feel this, or believe that. All that matters is what _is_."

I nodded, watching both of them. I felt like they wanted to say something else, but were holding back. There was something else, too, behind their eyes, some emotion which I couldn't quite name. They weren't angry, nor were they sad, but both my parents were dealing some uncomfortable emotion that they didn't want me to see.

"And anyway," my mom added, looking at me with a smile, "this is only one part of your life."

"That's true," I said, with a nod. "It's not like I have gods for parents, after all."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," my dad said, his gaze not moving off the TV.

We all laughed, and then, in that moment, the contrast of the happiness with that other emotion made me suddenly understand what my parents were keeping to themselves: worry. For probably the first time since I'd told them about going to camp, my parents seemed genuinely worried about my future in the Greek world. I couldn't tell why this was, I couldn't understand exactly what was troubling them, but there was an unease in their eyes which I hadn't seen in a long time.

* * *

We talked for a while longer, before watching a movie. Eventually, around midnight, I headed to bed.

As I lay in my room, looking at the ceiling and slowly slipping into sleep, I thought again of the prophecy. I'd told my parents about it, though they hadn't seemed particularly surprised to hear that there was a centuries-old prophecy which predicted that their son had a central role in an oncoming apocalypse. I guess the Visitor had covered that one.

I thought also of the questions I'd been asking myself earlier on: was this my destiny? Was this what I wanted? Could I even choose?

Then I thought of what my mom and dad had said. Choosing the most productive option. Being logical. My ideas gradually became misty and indistinct, as I dropped down into sleep. Those questions and that advice seemed to bob around before me, slowly linking up in a chain.

My final thought before finally falling asleep was that really, if I was honest, if this was my destiny, it made sense. After all, what's more productive than doing all you can to keep the lights burning?


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

_Harry Dresden. Saving the world, one act of random destruction at a time._

–Jim Butcher, 'Side Jobs'

* * *

The next day, I went to visit my grandfather.

I felt bad about running out on him a few days ago - just because a horde of demonic zombie ghosts were descending on the heart of western civilisation didn't mean I could just head off and leave him there.

(Though I did have a pretty good case there.)

Anyway, my return home was all about getting some normality, and that alone was good enough reason to visit Grandpa.

(Of course, that statement contained the blindingly inaccurate assumption that I was going to get any semblance of what people call _normal human life_ by visiting my globe-trotting grandfather.)

He didn't answer the door, so I let myself in. I went from room to room, searching, but he was nowhere to be seen. This was no surprise. I knew where to find Old Scribe. When he vanished away like this, there was only one place he could be.

I headed up the stairs and paused in the middle of the landing on the first floor. Then, I hopped up to tug at a brass handle which seemed to be embedded in solid, unbroken ceiling overhead.

I yanked on it, and a whole square section of the ceiling around the handle just popped out. A fold-up wooden ladder emerged along with it, unfolding itself out from the attic entrance.

"Cyrus? Is that you?" the voice of Grandpa came from somewhere beyond the opening.

"It's me," I said, grinning as the ladder finished unfolding, and hung in front of me. The attic door was attached to the end of it, now resting on the floor.

My grandfather had wanted to make a space where he could work or study without any interruptions from anyone - "even burglars", he'd said. I'd still managed to find it at the age of ten, but he didn't mind me knowing.

"I guess it's just as well," he'd mused, the first time I'd convinced him to let me up into the attic with him. "If I fall down with a terrible disease while I'm up here, it'll be nice to know that I can rely on you to find me before I die."

"Who said you could _rely_ on me?" had been my obvious reply.

I climbed up the hidden ladder, for what felt like the millionth time. I'd spent many interesting afternoons up here, with my grandfather telling me stories about worlds which sounded too amazing to be real, showing me the maps, photographs and notebooks from his journeys.

"You know, this place is _supposed_ to be private," he said to me now, not looking up from his desk as my head came through the opening.

"Sure it is," I chirped, stepping up onto the plank-covered floor and folding the ladder back up behind me. "It's not like I've ever told anyone, is it?"

I looked around. The whole of the house's attic was around us, but only a small portion of it was in use. Grandpa had laid wooden planks over the rafters to cover an area the size of a small bedroom. The furniture was made up by a small desk - which he'd brought up in pieces and assembled up here, apparently nearly breaking his neck while trying to find a dropped nail - his chair, a stool and a bare light bulb hanging from a wire hooked around an overhead beam.

(I'd once suggested that he bring his laptop up here sometimes, but he'd given me a disappointed look, and asked me to reconsider the meaning of the phrase "no distractions".)

The desk was positioned so that my grandpa had his back to the attic opening when he was writing, as he was doing now. I took up the stool by the attic door, and waited for him to finish. For several moments, the only sounds that could be heard were the scratching of his pen on his notebook, the whispery gurgles of pipes in the next house, and the smooth rolling sounds of cars passing by outside.

Eventually, after five minutes or more, Grandpa finished writing with a quick, underlining gesture. He flipped the notepad shut, carefully put it away in the second drawer on the left and put his pen in the first drawer on the right. Only then did he stand up to look at me.

"Well, I suppose I'm stuck with you for now," he muttered,, pretending to be woefully unamused, but even Grandpa's best scowl could not disguise the spark in his eyes.

"Or perhaps I'm stuck with _you_?" I replied, earning myself a mock look of fury. Grandpa turned his (wooden) chair around so that he faced me as he sat down.

(While Old Scribe had nothing against modern technology, he really didn't go in for swivel chairs. "Why would I want a chair that has _wheels_?" he'd once exclaimed. "I'm an old man as it is, I don't want to make myself feel worse by sitting in a chair that's one step away from being something they put poor paralysed people in.")

"What can I do for you, then?" Grandpa asked, once he was resettled in his chair. "I assume I can do something for you. People don't generally visit me to be nice and give me free cookies. What a tender world that would be…"

There was only a few feet between us. Grandpa had not cared to go looking for more wooden planks than he needed, and so had put down just enough flooring to support his desk and chair. He had, however, put down two extra planks when I'd started visiting, so that there'd be just enough space for my stool - a surprise birthday present.

"Well, I _was_ supposed to be spending time with you," I shrugged. "Unfortunately I had to go fight a bunch of killer ghosts."

"That sounds like some fun," Grandpa nodded. A flash of amusement lit up his face for a moment. "You know, I fought rogue ghosts once."

"_Really_?" I said, my eyes widening. This was one story I'd never heard.

"Oh, yes," he said, assuming an air of relaxed mildness, as though we were discussing old football stories.

"Where was it? Brazil? Russia? Canada?"

"No, nowhere so far away as that," he shook his head. "It was in Chicago."

"Chicago?"

"Oh, yes," he repeated, pretending not to notice my growing interest. "I wasn't even there to travel. I was visiting my publisher to talk about my new book. The meeting didn't go so well - I'm afraid he wasn't overly fond of my plan to write about an investigation into corrupt publishing practices. He told me, in no uncertain terms, to stick to something nice and popular, like homicide or drugs. Well, I didn't like that idea. I went for a walk around the city to clear my head.

"It was the first time I'd been there in person, and whenever I'm in a new city I try to learn things about it that you won't see in the tourist brochures. I went exploring some of the smaller streets, and I found this absolutely tiny pub."

"Were the ghosts in the pub?" I said, eyeing him doubtfully. "Are you sure they weren't spirits?"

"Ha-ha," Grandpa said, shaking his head. "No. Just listen, ye unfaithful one."

Old Scribe shifted about in his seat, reaching up to the light bulb. He adjusted the wire, so that the light wasn't shining into his face. Then he checked his watch, before continuing.

"It was a very strange establishment," he said, his gaze going glassy as he looked back into the past. "Very odd layout, and there was a curious notice on the wall - something about Unseelie Accords, I don't remember it exactly. It was quiet, too, just a few customers, but then it was barely five o'clock.

"The barman looked like a taciturn sort of man, which suited me just fine. I didn't really want to do any talking after that meeting. So I went up to the bar, and asked for some dinner.

"Well, I didn't think anyone had noticed me come in, but as soon as I spoke, I felt every eye in the room turn to me. It was far from the first time that that's happened, but something about it sent a shiver down my spine, as though I'd walked into a saloon of gunslingers who all had their fingers on their triggers.

"The barman didn't blink, at least, though he didn't look too happy about something. He fried up some fare - very good stuff, too, I hadn't had better since my trip to the Cape of Good Hope. There was something in his eye as he served me, a kind of curiosity, mixed with annoyance. He said nothing, though. Maybe he could tell that I didn't want to talk.

"So I sat there, eating. After a while I started to feel better. It's funny how good food always makes you feel better, isn't it? I began to think more calmly. Perhaps my idea for that publication industry investigation was a little ambitious. Maybe I wasn't getting the deal I wanted on the contract, but then I had done far better than I'd really deserved from my first novel.

"I was nearly finished my dinner when the door opened, and a striking young man marched in.

"I hadn't really looked at any of the other patrons: they were the sort of people who gave the strong impression that if you looked at them directly they'd come over and make you wish you'd stayed at home. This guy, though, he was different. He drew gazes, rather than repelled them."

"What did he look like?" I asked, as Grandpa paused to wet his lips.

"Very tall. Thin. A little lanky," he said, waving a hand upwards to indicate great height. "He could have been a scary guy, but he had an air of friendliness that made him seem like a well-intentioned giant. That's what I thought, anyway, though as he walked up to the bar, the atmosphere among the rest of the patrons changed in a way which made me think that perhaps this man was a lot more fearsome than he looked."

"He took a seat near me, and asked the barman - whose name was Mac, apparently - for a beer and a meal. He sat on a stool a few down from me, and waited. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I cleaned off my plate. He was wearing this ridiculous leather duster, and he had some kind of necklace, with a pentacle hanging off it, which seemed to glow a little in the dim light."

"What's a pentacle?" I frowned.

"It's a sort of five-pointed star," Grandpa said. He turned to take a piece of paper and a pencil off his desk, and quickly drew a star enclosed in a circle. He showed it to me as he went on. "It's used in rituals and ceremonies in many cultures. Anyway, I was about to stand up to leave, when this tall, longcoat-wearing man spoke to me.

"'Excuse me,' he said, not aggressively, but there was something in his voice that made me sure that it wouldn't be a good idea for me to move just yet.

"'Yes?' I replied, looking at him directly for the first time. He was handsome, but there was a kind of jaggedness to him, like he'd seen a lot of bad things - too many.

"'I don't mean to offend you,' he said, not taking his eyes off me, while somehow not actually meeting my gaze. He looked relaxed, but I could also tell that he was ready to move whenever he needed. 'But this really isn't the kind of place someone like you should be.'

"I opened my mouth, pretending to be outraged as I tried to think of something to say. I had no clue what to say, in fact, but just then the barman came over to the man and gave him his order. Before he turned away, Mac, the barman, spoke.

"'Harry,' he said, glancing towards me and then up at that Unseelie Accords sign on the wall. I couldn't tell what was being communicated, but the man - Harry, obviously - seemed to understand it. He turned back to me, and smiled.

"'I'm sorry,' he said, much to my astonishment. 'It's no business of mine what you're doing here, as long as you don't bring any trouble.'

"This relaxation loosened my tongue. 'Oh?' I said. 'And what if I _wanted_ to bring some trouble?'

"Harry grinned, a little goofily, as he began to eat. 'We'd have a problem then. Bringing trouble is my job.'

"'I'm sure you're very good at it,' I replied. I drained my glass, stood up, and left some money on the bar next to my empty dishes. I was about to turn away, when Harry spoke again.

"'I'm still curious, though,' he murmured, not looking around at me. 'What's a normal guy like you doing in a place like this?'

"'What are you talking about?' I said, frowning over at him. 'What is this place? Looks like a regular Irish pub to me. I'm Irish. Why _shouldn't_ I be here?"

"He looked up at me then, with surprise in his eyes, though he was still oddly careful to avoid my gaze.

"'How can you be in here, without knowing what this place is?' he asked, incredulous.

"'I don't know,' was my answer. I was getting a little confused now, but I didn't let it show. 'I just walked in off the street. I'm hungry, I'm on my first visit to Chicago, I saw a pub, I decided to come in. What's the problem?'

"Harry looked at me for a long moment, obviously searching for something, but I didn't know what. Finally, he raised one dark eyebrow, and asked me what I knew about magic."

"_Magic_?" I echoed in amazement.

"Oh, yes," Grandpa nodded, looking amused by the effect his story was having. "He explained to me that magic is actually real, and that humans have been using it for thousands of years. I knew all that, of course, and I told him so, but what I _didn't_ know was that this pub which I'd just wandered into was one of the main hang-out spots for the magical practitioners of Chicago.

"'We come here to talk, to eat, to meet," he explained, in between mouthfuls. 'It's also a kind of neutral ground, where opposing forces can negotiate. That's a lot more important than you'd think, right, Mac?'

"The barman was at the other end of the bar, polishing a glass. He nodded, without looking up at us.

"'And part of that whole deal,' Harry went on, after taking a long drink from his bottle, 'is that normal people - people like you, who aren't practitioners - can't just find this place. They literally cannot notice the front door, unless someone who knows about it shows it to them.'

"He looked at me and said, with an air of drama, 'So either you're a normal person unlike any other, or there's magic in your blood.'

"It was probably just as well that I'd sat back down by this point."

"Probably," I murmured.

"I knew about magic, of course," Grandpa went on, scratching his chin. "I knew a lot about it. I know even more now. Still, Harry was telling me something new. I'd always been able to see the world very clearly, but me? Magic? The idea seemed crazy. I'd sooner be President of America.

"So he told me more about magic then. Some of it was new to me. It turns out that magic is a lot more scientific than anyone realises. It's really just an abstract form of physics, he told me. It's far more to do with formulae and predetermined rituals than it is arcane words and wand-waving."

"Oh, I know," I said darkly, thinking of a particular ritual which we'd had a little trouble over.

"And then I asked him what he thought," he continued, folding his arms. "Did he really think I had some magic in my blood? Was I a wizard, Harry?"

"Did you actually say that?" I said, open-mouthed.

"Of course!" Grandpa said, nodding. "Harry Potter was just getting big then. I couldn't sit talking to a wizard named Harry without referencing it. If I hadn't known better, I'd have told Harry Dresden that his whole existence was a shameful plagiarisation of a children's novel."

"So what did he say?" I asked, trying to steer Grandpa away from going off on one of his infamous digressions, which often tended to be longer than the story he was supposed to be telling.

"Well, he looked at me," Grandpa said, taking a more dramatic tone. "And he didn't say anything for a long time. I thought he was falling asleep, to be quite honest with you.

"'I can't say,' he told me, which was woefully anticlimactic. 'It's hard to know for certain unless I see you in the field, under pressure. Magic often only comes out when it needs to.'

"Then he got an disturbingly gleeful look in his eye, and he asked me,

"'How would you like to go ghost-hunting?'"

Grandpa fell abruptly and dramatically silent, as he always liked to do when he was at the high point of his stories.

"Ghost hunting," I said, trying to sound unimpressed. The less interested I sounded, the more likely it was that he'd continue. "What, like _Ghostbusters_?"

"Ghost hunting is ghost hunting," Grandpa said, shrugging. "It's the same as hunting, I don't know, rabbits."

"Rabbits," I said, genuinely doubtful now. "Did you meet Harry Dresden or Elmer Fudd?"

"I honestly couldn't say," Grandpa said, his tone immovably neutral.

We sat in silence for a moment, as he let the suspense build and I pretended to be bored.

As I waited for him to continue, my thoughts started to drift back to camp. I wondered, in a vague sort of way, how they were getting on with preparations, and whether they'd found out anything new. It occurred to me that I didn't really know what we were going to do once we got to Alcatraz on Monday, though presumably it would involve swords and running. All half-blood strategies, however clever, ultimately boiled down to the same thing.

"So why _did_ you come here, Cyrus?" my grandfather asked, his tone and manner not altering a jot, as though the reason for my visit had everything to do with his ghost-hunting with Elmer Fudd.

"I guess I wanted some ordinariness," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Some normal human life, you know?"

"And you visited _me_?" Grandpa said, slapping one head to his forehead in mock horror. "Cyrus, I think you have a _very_ distorted understanding of the term 'normal human life'."

I laughed. We were quiet for another moment or two, both of us looking at the lightbulb in a distant way, as though we were waiting for it to explode or something. Suddenly, it flickered slightly, jolting us from our reveries.

"Your mother told me a little of this world that you've learned about, and that you're spending some time in," Grandpa said, much to my surprise. "I've heard about this kind of thing before, in fact. I don't have much firsthand experience, but I know one thing that's important to bear in mind."

He paused, his gaze a little glassy as he thought. As I looked at him, I wondered how great Old Scribe's knowledge really was. Whenever I thought he was nearing the bottom of his well of wisdom, he seemed to just dig it deeper.

"This isn't specific to anything in particular," he said, meeting my gaze again. "But I have always found that, no matter where you are in the world, you must always make sure that other people aren't making your decisions for you. That's an obvious fact, but it's the obvious things which are the ones most easily forgotten."

I nodded, taking that in. I wasn't really sure how to reply, so I just said, "So _did_ you go ghost hunting?"

Grandpa laughed, and, shaking his head, he stood up.

"Oh, dear, Cyrus," he said, looking at me with eyes full of amusement. "That, I'm afraid, is a story for another day."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

_Rustin Cohle: Yeah, back then, the visions, yeah, most of the time, I was convinced… shit, I'd lost it. But there other times… I thought I was mainlining the secret truth of the universe._

—'True Detective'

* * *

I walked through the gathering dusk. I'd left Grandpa's house, and was going back to my own, thinking along the way.

Something had struck me about Grandpa's story - not the tantalising hints about ghost-hunting, but the idea that there was more to the mystical world than the Greek gods and monsters. This idea of people using magic, a little like the way Olivia Hartnell used magic… they couldn't _all_ be children of Hecate, or children of gods. No, obviously there was another world again.

The Greek gods, half-bloods and monsters had such a sense of self-importance and self-adulation, it was easy to think that they were the only show in town. But Grandpa's story showed that things weren't as simple as that. There was a lot more magic and many more forces in the world than I - than _most_ people realised.

It made me wonder just how much I didn't know.

It had been an overcast day, and now as the sun set, it occasionally peeked through gaps in the cloud. The sunlight turned the surrounding cloud into all sorts of varying colours and shades, ranging from a deep, solid gold to a pink so delicate it seemed about to break if I looked at it too hard. The large expanses of solid, unbroken cloud grew darker, the light grey slowly turning into iron.

The streets were quiet now. Cars passed by me now and then, but there weren't many pedestrians. Most people were indoors, having dinner, probably in front of the TV. I wondered if anyone in the houses I was walking past had any idea what kind of world they were living in. I wondered, too, if they were better off not knowing. Is easy, inert ignorance better than endless, challenging knowledge?

Just then, I walked by a dim, shadowy alley and, as though on cue, I heard a sudden movement come from down the alleyway. Then there was another sound, this one louder - closer - as though something was moving towards me.

Now, I'm not a total idiot. Most people in this kind of situation stop and stare curiously in the direction of whatever worryingly villainous sound they've heard, but I know better. I've seen a lot of movies. No, I just kept on walking, without even glancing around.

But then I realised that I now had my back turned to whatever had made that sound, which was probably the _most_ stupid thing I could have done. I stopped walking, slipped my hand into my trouser pocket—

(One of the benefits of being mortal is that you can stick super-sharp, painfully deadly celestial bronze knives in your pocket without having to worry about cutting your own leg off.)

—and turned.

I looked around just in time to see a freaking Scythian _dracaena_ lunge at me with a jagged sword.

I yelped heroically, and threw myself out of the way. The monster tumbled past me, nearly landing on its face. This gave me a brief second to step back and get my bearings.

It was a bog-standard _dracaena,_ half-woman, half-snake, and I wasn't sure which half was in a worse mood. The snake-heads which made up the creature's feet were spitting and hissing frantically, while the monster's human-looking face was—

—now coming towards me very quickly, very venomous-looking teeth hurtling towards my face. Unfortunately, while celestial bronze doesn't hurt me, monster teeth sure can. With this in mind, I flung myself to one side, nearly slamming into a tree in the process.

I managed to veer around the tree, and I huddled behind it, as though that would hide me from the dracaena's notice. It didn't, obviously. Not even monsters are that stupid. The creature's head immediately appeared on my right, and I slashed with my knife. It let out a surprised shriek-hiss noise, and backed away quickly, retreating a few steps.

I moved back a few paces myself, not taking my eyes off the monster. It was wearing loosely fitted bronze armour, but I could see a few openings where I could get my blade in if I got close enough. If worst came to worst, I could just behead the damn thing. I didn't have to worry too much about it hurting me, since its main weapon was the sword (which looked like it would give you gangrene if it did cut you) but those venomous fangs could always be a problem.

I was about to draw on my sight, in case it could give me an extra advantage, when the grotesque thing came rushing at me again. I jabbed at its head, trying to deter any use of those spiky teeth. This left my guard open for a second, and the monster (with a pretty gratuitous hiss of glee) stuck its sword into my chest.

Except the word _stuck_ doesn't really work here because the blade just sailed right through me as though I was nothing more than a snarky ghost. The dracaena's tongue flickered in surprise, and it moved backwards ungracefully, lapsing into a huddling defensive stance.

The two of us eyed each other. A car passed by, but it neither slowed nor sped up. I wondered if the people in it could see the dracaena, or if I looked like I was just glaring into empty air.

The creature shifted about, getting ready to draw closer. I moved into a more offensive posture, pointing my knife directly at it in what was intended to be a stern and courageous manner, though I think I just made myself look rather confused.

(Hey, it was my first real monster fight, okay?)

The dracaena looked pretty confused, too. So that could only mean two things, I realised, thinking fast as I waited for the monster to make its move. Either this was a random attack, with no larger hand guiding it, or someone had sent this thing to bother me.

But it couldn't be random, because I had no scent. Monsters tracked demigods like dogs tracking animals in the wild, detecting the smell of the godly offspring and using it to hunt down their prey. But I - as has been said _way_ too many times - am mortal, and so have no scent. This creature couldn't have found me unless someone had told it where I was.

So, someone - or some_thing_ \- had sent the snake-woman to try to stick me with a sword. I frowned, trying to think as quick as I could before the monster could regain its bearings and come at me.

The dracaena was just a weapon in a bigger, darker hand. I could deal with that, but something didn't fit. Everyone and everything in the Greek world seemed to know that I was a mortal with pure sight. If some entity out there knew enough about me to be capable of sending a monster to my specific location, they also knew that I couldn't be hurt by the things that harm half-bloods.

So why send a monster using a celestial bronze sword? Not only that, but the thing obviously didn't even _know_ that I was mortal, judging by the way it was staring at me with appalled unease.

If this mysterious enemy wanted to actually hurt me, they could easily send something that would actually do some damage, like a minotaur or a Laistrygonian. Hell, one of those things could kill me by just standing on me. That could only mean one thing: the dracaena wasn't here to harm me.

Someone was playing a game with me, and I only knew one person who played games like this.

As if it sensed that I'd put the pieces together, the monster launched itself towards me. It raised its sword high in the air, getting ready to bring it down upon my head. I ignored it, sensing a trick. Sure enough, when it got within a foot of me, the monster dropped the sword and lunged towards my neck, teeth bared.

I was nearly too slow. For a nanosecond, I didn't know what to do. I'd picked out five different spots to stab at, and in the moment of reckoning my muscles froze up. But instinct and countless lessons kicked in just in time, and I rammed my knife into the monster's exposed side, just before its teeth could close around my neck.

I must have hit a main artery or something, because in the blink of an eye, the dracaena exploded into a cloud of yellow dust. I staggered backwards, coughing and flapping at the air, trying to keep the monster particles out of my eyes.

Those particles swirled around in the air, at first chaotically, but then they started to shift and move with purpose. Something made me watch, as a strange sense of familiarity stirred at the back of my mind.

The yellow dust, looking dull in the near-darkness, twisted in the air. The random cloud of dead monster molecules suddenly moved together, arranging itself into a long shape, like a skein of rope. It floated at about head-height for a second, before curling and plunging down towards the ground.

I watched it with a dawning sense of comprehension. Something about this, it was familiar. I knew what was going to happen next.

A swirling circle of shadow, about the width of a stool, opened up in the ground. The skein of dust dropped into it, the spiralling darkness swallowing it up entirely. In the time it took to shiver, the yellow monster particles vanished completely, leaving only the circle of shadow, which whirled on in the middle of the sidewalk. Gradually, then, it shrunk down, halving in size again and again, until it was no bigger than a dollar. But there the shrinking stopped, and the coin of shadow remained, changing in size no more.

I stood stock-still, staring down at the piece of darkness. I'd seen it before. The memory was a little vague, the clouds of time making the details unclear, but I still remembered seeing a circle of writhing shadows just like this one, a long time ago.

It had been there, at the very start of it all, when I'd first met Nico di Angelo. The very first time I'd seen him, he'd killed that Fury which had been at my school. The monster had disintegrated into yellow dust, just like this one, and the dust had been swallowed up by a circle of shadow which had appeared in the ground for that very purpose. The shadow had remained there, and as I thought back, I remembered the chill of unease that I'd felt as I'd looked at it.

And no-one else had seen the darkness. Not even Nico, for all his Underworldly powers, had spotted that piece of darkness which meant far more than I'd ever realised.

I put the knife back in my pocket, and leaned against the wall, collecting all the evidence together in my mind. That darkness, there was something menacing about it, something inherently malevolent. I couldn't say exactly what or why, but I knew it was there, with the same certainty with which I knew that the clouds were in the sky above me.

Someone had sent the monster. Someone who knew me, and who liked to play games. Who else could it be but Jake Wilson, working with his dark master - the son of Chaos, Tartarus himself?

And the shadows. I'd felt that malevolence twice before. It was unmistakeable, like a signature, except one you couldn't see or touch. It was like a smell, except more pervasive, and it was not something that was faded by the bleach of time. It was a state of mind, an aura generated by a presence which was darker than anything I could even conceive.

It was the calling-card of Tartarus.

I rubbed my eyes. I didn't quite know what it all meant, but some intuition told me that Tartarus was reaching up into the world of man. How, I didn't understand, but that was the truth. It had to be. Nothing else could explain that strange, tiny whirlpool of darkness, which was so similar to the far larger one I'd seen at the Edge of the West.

I eyed the shadow on the path again, before checking my watch. I couldn't comprehend all this by myself. I had to get back to camp.

* * *

"Yes," said Chiron, rubbing his chin. "This explains a great deal."

We were sitting in his office, just him and me. Outside his window, the sky was a cheery light-blue, as though there was no kind of darkness in the world.

As soon as I'd gotten home, I'd called Chiron and asked to be picked up the next morning. Then I'd explained the situation to my parents, breaking down my realisation, or at least what I thought I'd realised. They'd understood that I had to go back to camp - I almost got the sense that they knew better than me why I needed to go.

In the morning, though, when I said goodbye, something in their eyes seemed unsettled. That sense of worry which I'd seen when I'd come home had grown. They didn't say anything unusual, nor did they let on any sense that they didn't agree with what I was doing.

But when they looked at me, it was like they were looking at bad news waiting to happen.

Still, I didn't have space in my head to consider any of that. I'd headed back to the home of half-bloods, my mind full with thoughts of Tartarus and monsters.

Chiron met me at the top of Half-Blood Hill, and we went straight to his office. There, I'd explained what had happened, and told him what I suspected. Now, I waited for the centaur to finish the jigsaw, and tell me if what I thought I knew was the actual truth.

"I've been wondering how the son of Chaos was regaining his power now, and at such a great rate," he went on, looking out the window distantly. "This is the answer. This is his ace in the hole."

"How do you think it works, then?" I asked, crossing my arms. "What's he doing?"

Chiron sighed. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment, before turning back to me.

"Every time a monster is destroyed, its essence gets pulled down into the pit of Tartarus," he explained, his tone growing more businesslike. "The yellow dust which people see is the physical manifestation of that essence. Normally, a temporary passage to the pit is opened, the essence gets taken down through the Underworld and into the depths of Tartarus, and the link closes.

"But what you're telling me now indicates that somehow, those tiny gateways into Tartarus aren't closing. It never before occurred to me that this could happen, but it explains something crucial."

"What's that?" I asked, intent.

"Why is the son of Chaos rising so powerfully, so suddenly, right now?" Chiron said, sitting straighter as he become more animated. "It makes no sense. He has been either asleep or imprisoned for thousands upon thousands of years. Why does he _now_ become powerful enough to drag himself up towards the light? Such things do not occur by osmosis.

"But what if he began to use the monsters that are always pouring into the pit? What if he used the inordinate amount of essences that were cast into his realm during the recent wars, the Second Titan War and the Second Gigantomachy? Each fragment of monster has its own level of intrinsic power. All those fragments, all that power, falling into the son of Chaos' lap."

"But that can't be anything new," I said doubtfully. "There's been wars going on for eons. It's hardly the first time that a truckload of monsters got dumped into Tartarus."

"That's true," Chiron nodded, resting his chin on his hand. "There has been a confluence of forces and factors. The rise of Kronos, his fellow Titans, followed by Gaia and the giants, must have caused a great displacement of power when they broke loose from their prisons. Then, imagine the power that was absorbed into the pit when they were defeated and banished. But it wasn't the first time that that this occurred, either, of course. So what is the difference? What changed?"

"Time," I said, as a thought hit me. "It has to be just the passage of time, doesn't it? Two thousand years can sure make a lot of difference."

Chiron didn't reply at first, but sat very still, frowning in thought. After a long moment, he nodded, as though the puzzle was fitting together in his mind.

"Of course," he said. "When the Titans were first defeated, the son of Chaos had been in his prison for two thousand years. The chains of his prison were still strong, but the passage of time rusts all locks. Those who built his prison receded and faded after the Olympians' ascension, leaving his gaol unmaintained. After a further two thousand years, the wars began again, and he was ready."

It struck me how Chiron was talking of Tartarus being _imprisoned_. I knew very little about Tartarus as an entity - there wasn't much about him in any of the books I'd read. It had never occurred to me that he was actually in some kind of prison. There was, I felt, a whole other story lying behind Chiron's words.

"It is clear now." the centaur nodded to himself, sitting back in his chair. "The son of Chaos began to use the power that reached the pit to rebuild his strength. Then, he soon sought to reach up into the world above. Of course… his first option, his very first action, was to use the direct route into the land of man which is so available to him. At some point during one of the wars, he made those links into his realm two-way passages. And so, as the monster sinks into the pit, the son of Chaos reaches up out of it."

"And then he uses his new strength to keep the link open," I murmured, as the full meaning of what I'd begun to understand last night washed over me. "He leaves a little bit of himself up here, with us, and no-one can see it, unless…"

"Unless they have pure sight, like you." Chiron smiled. "We have you to thank for this understanding, Cyrus. At last we know the true extent of the son of Chaos' plans."

His tone made it sound as though this was a great victory, but I had a hard time seeing it that way. This just made everything look a lot more depressing. Now we _knew_ how and why we were gonna be screwed over.

We sat in silence for a few moments, meditating upon these revelations. One thing I still didn't understand: why Tartarus had sent the monster after me at all. It hadn't done me any harm, and it had helped to reveal this. There was a possibility that he _wanted_ us to work this out, but I couldn't see how it helped (or harmed) him.

Of course, if there was one thing I'd learned in the last week, it was that the son of Chaos always had a larger plan that was beyond anything we could see.

"This also means," Chiron said, sounding a lot wearier now, "that every time one of us kills a monster, we help the son of Chaos to gain a stronger presence in our world."

My stomach lurched as I thought about this. That set up the worst catch-22 situation imaginable.

"But we can't stop killing monsters," I said, shaking my head. "We kill them or they kill us, and it's not like we can just tie the damn things up."

"I know," Chiron muttered. "It simply makes things more frustrating. Ah, how the challenges grow. Between this, and the Rheans, and people like Jake Wilson… sometimes I wonder how we can possibly survive."

This didn't really make me feel any better. Chiron wasn't one for sharing his worries or fears: he always focussed on searching for the solution, or the way to limit the damage. Hearing him express his despair made me realise just how drastic things were getting.

"So what should I do now?" I said, thinking out loud more than anything else.

"The raiding party leaves for Alcatraz at three o'clock tomorrow," Chiron answered, making an effort to banish the signs of emotion from his expression. "Until then, there's only one thing you should do."

"What's that?"

Chiron stood up slowly, his face set in a neutral expression.

"Get ready. Prepare for battle," he said. "Tomorrow, the war begins."


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

_"__Then we go in, find Skulduggery and bring him back. Easy as proverbial pie."_

_"__Unless something goes wrong," Valkyrie said._

_"__Well, yes. Unless something goes horribly, dreadfully wrong. Which it usually does of course."_

—Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant: Dark Days'

* * *

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur of weapons training, strategic meetings, team selections and drilling.

I didn't think it was possible to squeeze so preparation into such a short space of time, but the demigods had no problem with it. It amazed me how, despite their ADHD and lack of interest in any regimental activities, the half-bloods were able to swing into military action when it was necessary. The word had been spreading through camp over the last two days, and everyone knew that something big was coming.

My preparations began as soon as I finished my meeting with Chiron. He sent me to a special sword-fighting seminar that Percy was running for people who were apparently part of the raiding party going to Alcatraz. I got there just before it began.

There was around ten or twelve people there, some of whom I didn't know. Those who I did know included Kevin, Clarisse (even though she could already kill most monsters with her eyes closed), Jane, a couple of the Hermes kids, and Alice.

"Cyrus!" Percy said, as I arrived in the arena. "I didn't think I'd see you today."

I sensed a note of cheerful surprise in his voice, like he'd been hoping or wishing I was there preparing with everyone else. I couldn't help linking this into another idea at the back of my mind: that some of my, ah, _detractors_ at camp would be turning my absence from camp against me.

"Neither did I," I said to the son of Poseidon who - like the rest of the class - was eyeing me with curiosity as I prepared to join them. I took off my coat and hat, drew my knife and put my things in a corner. I turned around and found everyone still watching me.

"What's wrong?" I said, tilting my head at them. "Haven't you ever seen a mortal before?"

* * *

Sword-fighting classes are usually okay for me, because people go easy on me - mainly because they seem to think that since I'm a mortal I break easier.

_Pre-apocalyptic-battle_ sword-fighting classes are a bit different.

To begin with, most half-bloods had at least a year's more experience and training than me, never mind how they had semi-godly reflexes and skills of which I could only dream. As I said, normally, this isn't too much of a problem, because people take it slow with me, but today, everyone was fighting like they were about to die.

(Then again, for all they knew, they _were_.)

So all the training, experience and ferocity of whichever demigod I had the misfortune to face at a given moment came at me like a ton of bricks - bricks made from celestial bronze, no less. For the first time, I understood why Percy was trying to convince me that a knife wasn't the best choice of a weapon. It can be awfully hard to defend yourself with a small blade if the opponent is attacking you with all their force whilst wielding a sword at least two times bigger than the knife, which at that moment seems like little more than a puny scrap of metal.

It wasn't too bad when I went up against people like Kevin, but when I faced Clarisse, I felt like I was trying to fight a steamroller with a stick of celery. Her sheer strength drove me back a step every time she made a strike, and let me tell you, stepping backwards when facing a child of Ares is sort of like rubbing a bull's face with a red handkerchief. The daughter of Ares's speed was intimidating: she seemed to be able to move her hefty sword faster than I could move my (comparatively tiny) knife.

Despite that, however, the most dangerous fight I had was actually with Jane. She was the only one there who owned a sword that could actually hurt me - and she was the only one who seemed to actually have a personal problem with me.

She didn't say anything, of course. She greeted me cheerfully - though there was an edge there, even as she smiled - and made some chit-chat. I looked at Jane, searching for some indication of whether she meant the things she'd said a couple of days ago, but I couldn't see any hint either way. Going merely by the way she spoke to me, I could only assume that everything was fine.

Still, when we started to spar and Jane attacked me as though I'd hunted down her grandmother and beaten her up, I couldn't help wondering if everything really _was_ fine. I mean, she didn't say anything mean or even give me any angry looks, but the repeated decapitation attempts sure made me wonder.

Luckily, though, I managed to get through the whole sword-fighting session without being seriously injured. I didn't even get called out and embarrassed for being a terrible fighter who had no place on a demigod strike team.

I ate my lunch with a very strong sense of relief.

The atmosphere around the pavilion at lunchtime was more serious than I'd ever seen it. There was a strong sense that every single demigod (even all the Hermes kids) knew that we stood on a precipice, and it was not a matter of whether or not we fell.

It was just a question of how prepared we were when we went over the edge.

A brief meeting was held when everyone had finished eating. Just before people began to head back to their classes, Chiron rose to his feet.

"I'd like you all to remain here for a few moments," he told us, looking around at everyone. "We need to make the final selection of the fighters who will be on the team tomorrow. Annabeth, if you could come over here…?"

The daughter of Athena nodded, jumped out of her seat and hurried over to Chiron's table, with a few large manila folders tucked under her arm. She dumped these on the table and opened a couple, spreading some of the documents out on the tabletop, pointing things out to Chiron. The two of them conferred. Rachel, at the end of the table, watched them but said little. Mr. D wasn't to be seen. I wondered if the Olympians were making any preparations, or if they were too busy arguing among themselves, even now.

Annabeth made a few brief notes on a separate sheet of paper, before nodding. Chiron asked her one last question, before turning to look around at everyone once more.

"Annabeth has been working all morning to select those who she believes will be most effective on the mission," the centaur told us. "She will announce those names now. If any of those chosen don't want to be on the team, please let her know as soon as possible.""

He sat down slowly, glancing around at the rowdier half-bloods to ensure their silence, but there was no need. Most people at camp were more afraid of Annabeth than they were of him, so the mere possibility of her speaking was enough to put a seal of silence on us all.

The daughter of Athena picked up the uppermost sheet of paper, and looked at it closely for a moment, before turning to glance around at everyone.

"This team will have twenty members," she said, her voice carrying clearly around the pavilion. "We'll discuss the specific strategy later. The team members are…"

She began reading out the names. There weren't many surprises: Percy, Clarisse, Jane, Alice and two of her siblings, Kevin and two daughters of Ares, Olivia Hartnell and one of her brothers, and a couple of Hephaestus guys.

I was a little surprised when Zack's name was called. There were many Athena children who could be effective - I sure didn't see why _he_ had to be the one coming.

Then, with a twinge of irritation, I remembered that Zack _did_ have a reputation for being one of the smartest and most strategic sons of Athena at camp. One of Annabeth's close friends - Malcolm something-or-other - was meant to be even sharper, but he was rarely at camp.

A daughter of Aphrodite was also chosen - the Aphrodite counsellor, in fact, Piper McClean. She looked about as surprised as anyone else to hear this.

Finally, two Hermes kids - Jack and Tara, considered to be two of the craftiest fighters at camp - and a daughter of Hypnos were all named. I wasn't sure what use someone with magical sleep powers would be - were we going to politely ask the Rheans to stand still while we put them to sleep? - but Annabeth probably had a plan. She always had a plan.

My name was called near the end. I tried to keep my face impassive as half-bloods around the pavilion turned to look at me. I noticed a number of irritated looks - more than I'd ever seen directed at me before. Various people at every table were looking at me doubtfully, as though they weren't convinced of my abilities.. Obviously Zack had been talking to a number of people about my questionable competence over the last few days.

"The rest of you," Annabeth said, drawing the attention back to her, "should also be prepared for an attack. It's unlikely that either Rhea or the son of Chaos are strong enough to mount an offensive on us just yet, but we have to be ready. Patrols should be mounted around camp borders, full-time, for the next few days, until this crisis has passed."

She turned back to her papers, and tidied them back into their folders. The silence which had prevailed in the pavilion was shattered as everyone started making their way to wherever they had to go. A sense of anticipation was in the air, as they all geared up to face whatever storm was about to hit. It amazed me how businesslike they all were, even the children of Apollo and Hermes. To look at them now, you would think that this sort of imminent conflict was an everyday occurrence, a natural part of their life.

And, of course, in many ways it was.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by. Those of us who were on the team were rushed through a series of specialised weapons lessons and drills, preparing us for the various eventualities which could occur tomorrow.

"The ironic thing is that you can never really prepare for a battle," Alice mused, after we'd finished an intensive archery drill. "I mean, maybe things tomorrow will turn out in such a way that everything we practiced today becomes useless. Maybe things won't even come to conflict, maybe we'll be able to talk out a truce."

"And maybe Tartarus will change his mind and just have a nice chat with the Olympians, maybe go on Dr. Phil, resolve their issues, have a TV documentary about their attempts to live with each other, write a book about their success…" I said darkly, as I packed up my bow.

"I'm just saying that it's a possibility," Alice said, trying not to laugh.

We kept training long after our normal schedule, and dinner only began around nine o'clock. After that we were all summarily ordered to bed - apparently good sleep is an integral part of every battle plan.

"It's no good having an elite team of trained godly children if they're all falling down with tiredness," Chiron said to me in passing.

I sure wasn't complaining. I was three-quarters asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

Breakfast on the morning of December 21st was a tense affair. That atmosphere of anticipation had been transformed overnight. The darkness of the night, the spectres of uneasy rest and the inevitable pre-battle nerves all combined to make most of the half-bloods - even the ones not going on the mission - deeply unsettled.

No-one said anything, of course, but it was all in their eyes, in the tension of the brows, the flickering gazes. I felt pretty damn nervous, too, but I was focussing on what I needed to do. Concentrating on readying for conflict made it much easier to forget that I was actually going into something that would likely become a fight to the death.

Everyone on the strike team was told to assemble outside the Big House after breakfast for a strategy briefing. We made our way there from the pavilion, heading across camp in twos and threes. I went with Kevin, who was excited - not about the battle, but about seeing what kind of strategy Annabeth had prepared.

"Her plans are always genius," he told me with the eagerness of an enthusiast. "She usually thinks of everything, and she has so much _experience_."

"It's been a while, though, hasn't it?" I said. "What if she's lost her touch?"

Kevin gave me an appalled look, as though I'd suggested that Mr. D was an inspiring heroic warrior.

And so our team formed, at the foot of the porch steps. That tension was more pronounced, here amongst the people who really did have something to be scared about. Still, there was no real fear in the air yet, just nerves. It occurred to me, for the first time, that a lot of the half-bloods weren't nervous about the battle itself, they were actually nervous about whether or not they'd be successful. They were like athletes just before the big game: not afraid of the event, but worried about their performance.

The chatter among us was muted, but it faded out when Annabeth emerged from the Big House. She stood on the porch, holding a large, square notepad in one hand and a Sharpie in the other. As one, the team turned to look up at her.

"So, I wanted to go over the plan with you all, before we leave," she said. "It's more helpful if you actually know what you're doing."

"Really?" Percy said, stepping up to the front of the group and grinning up at her. "I never have a clue what I'm doing and things always seem to work out."

Annabeth didn't say anything, but just rolled her eyes with an air of resignation at Percy's unfailing goofiness. Then she opened her notepad, flipping through pages as she spoke.

"We need to remember that the point of this mission is to ensure that the Rheans don't successfully perform the ritual," she said. "We're not there to enter into a confrontation with the Rheans or with the son of Chaos. So, the best way for us to fulfil this goal is to retrieve the book that contains the ritual instructions, the book which Xavier stole from the library."

She stopped at a particular page in the notebook, and examined it.

"The Rheans will be expecting us to charge straight in and attack them directly," Annabeth went on, glancing down at us before looking at the notebook again. "We can't do that. Our first intention, then, is to find this book and leave with it before they complete the ritual."

"But won't one of the Rheans just remember the instructions which the book gives?" asked Kevin, next to me, looking confused.

Olivia was near us, and answered before Annabeth could reply.

"A lot of magical ceremonies, particularly complicated or powerful rituals like this, actually need the original lore present during the performance of the rite," she explained to us. "It works as a kind of power conductor, focussing the energy of the magical practitioners onto whatever they're trying to do."

"That's right," Annabeth nodded at her. "If we get the book, we shut down any summoning of the son of Chaos. Now, it's obviously possible that we'll obtain the book but find ourselves unable to escape with it. Alternatively, one of us may be within reach of the tome, but unable to take it from the Rheans. In either of these situations, we destroy the book. If it proves to be too dangerous, difficult or costly to attempt to get the item away, we simply put it beyond use right there, by whatever means necessary."

"Question," Percy said, raising his hand. "Why even bother trying to retrieve it safely? Why not just immediately destroy it?"

A look of annoyance passed over Annabeth's face, though it was not directed at the son of Poseidon.

"The Olympians want it recovered, if at all possible," she said, shaking her head and turning a page of her notebook with a slightly irritated air. "I don't know why. Probably it's wrapped up in some political row."

A very, very quiet rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, but it was subdued, as though even the gods couldn't deny that one.

"Anyway, here's the plan," she went on, tapping her pen on the notebook. "In order to locate the book, we need to buy some time. This will involve trying to negotiate with the Rheans, but that will more than likely fail—"

"You _think_?" I heard a voice murmur, possibly Leo Valdez.

"—so we need to do something else to play for time. We could attack them head-on as soon as they refuse to comply, but that's unnecessarily dangerous. Instead, we delay their attempts to perform the ritual by sealing off their power source."

There was a blank silence among us, as we tried to understand what the heck she was talking about. Alice alone seemed to get it.

"How can we do that?" she said, her tone expressing great doubt. She moved to the front of our group to look at Annabeth directly. "The obelisk will be at the very centre of the chamber, surrounded by the Rheans. The only way to even get close to it would be to hack our way through them."

"Not quite," Annabeth said, starting to look pleased with herself. "There's a way around that. We can—"

"Wait, wait, hold up," I said, raising both my hands in the air. "What are you talking about? What power source?"

"Rhea's obelisk," the daughter of Athena replied impatiently. "Underneath Alcatraz. The Titan is imprisoned in a obelisk, which stands at the centre of the chamber below the prison. The Rheans are going to use that as their power source for the ritual, so we need to seal it off. We need to enclose it in a magic circle."

There was another moment of silence, but this wasn't so much a blank, confused silence as a "are-you-really-that-batshit-crazy" silence. A few people eyed Annabeth warily.

"And how," I enunciated, "are we going to get to the thing, without having to start swinging sharp implements around? The Rheans are hardly going to just let us walk over and casually draw a little circle around their holy obelisk."

A few people laughed at this, though some others looked like they were busy trying to understand why Annabeth had gone crazy.

"It's very simple," she said, reassuringly, which only assured me that _it_ was going to be hard and complicated. "Two people - Jane and a child of Hecate - will slip past the Rheans. Jane will use her powers to conceal both of them, and they will move right past the Rheans to draw the circle around the obelisk. The Rheans will mysteriously find their power source to be out of action for a little while, giving us time to negotiate with them."

Murmurs passed from half-blood to half-blood as they took this in. Most of them, including Kevin, who still stood next to me, seemed to be accepting of the plan. Clarisse, however, had an objection.

"That's great, Annabeth," she said, her tone dark, her hands on her hips. "Just great. There's only one problem. What happens when Xavier and his lackeys refuse to talk to us, tell us to leave, continue their magic crap, and discover the ward we put around their Titanic rock?"

The daughter of Athena was not at all surprised by this question, but merely lowered her notepad and looked Clarisse in the eye.

"What happens?" Annabeth said, her voice resolute. "The same thing that always happens. We stand. We fight. We try not to die."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

_"__We know," Prometheus said. "We want peace, but we are prepared for war."_

_"__In my experience, when you turn up at someone's gate with an entire army behind you, there is always war," Scathach said grimly._

–Michael Scott, 'The Enchantress'

* * *

The last few hours before I left camp were like the final moments before emigrating to a foreign country. People were bidding me goodbye, wishing me luck, reassuring me (badly) and expressing their certainty that I would return.

The main difference between this and a regular departure was that most people who I spoke to were anything _but_ certain that I'd come back. In fact, they were probably already imagining how my shroud would look when it burned on the funeral pyre.

(Which made me wonder: apparently camp funeral shrouds always bore the emblem of the appropriate godly parent, so what would they put on mine? A pair of glasses? A broken sword? A bad smiley face? Or would they just send my body back to my parents with a few broken flowers and an apologetic letter?)

It didn't really matter what people thought of my chances of survival, of course. I was coming back, and that was it.

(Still, it would've been nice to see a _little_ bit of hopefulness.)

Anna the Hermes counsellor, for example, was far from helpful.

"If I were you," she told me sagely, over lunch, "I'd make a will before you leave."

"Um," I said, eyeing her. "Why would I do that?"

"Otherwise people will just take whatever stuff you leave here," Anna said, shrugging in a manner that tried to simultaneously justify and apologise for such behaviour. "You have to make a will, otherwise it'll all vanish, I promise you."

"Oh. I see," I nodded, not sure whether to laugh or not. "Would… people here really take a dead guy's stuff?"

Anna shrugged again. "Hey, look, man, you just can't trust some people."

I couldn't help wondering if "some people" meant the Hermes cabin in general.

I didn't make a will, but when I went back to my cabin to finish preparing, I put anything I wasn't bringing with me under my mattress.

Even Chiron wasn't exactly a morale-booster.

"Remember," he told us, as we all assembled for departure, just inside the tree line of the Black Woods, "your actions could make the difference between war and peace, and if war breaks out nonetheless, what you achieve could determine the kind of battle we have to fight."

He paused and then added, in an _almost_ blatantly ironic tone, "But no pressure."

We were assembling at the forest because it was a deeply shadowed area that made it a lot easier for Jane to shadow-travel our asses to the other side of the country. I'd thought that it would be a very difficult trip for her to make, because shadow-travelling to places you've never seen is much harder than going to places you know. However, by some implausibly miraculous stroke of luck, it turned out that Jane had actually visited Alcatraz a few years ago, so she was able to more or less visualise where we needed to go.

"The place we need to aim for is on the third floor," Alice explained to her, as we separated into two groups of ten. Jane was going to transport us in batches to avoid pushing herself too far. "The tunnel down to Rhea's chamber begins inside a cell on that floor, but we can't travel directly into the cell because it's protected."

"Protected how?" asked Jane, standing with her feet planted squarely and her arms folded, as she gathered up her strength.

"There's a solid rod of Stygian iron running along the bottom of the cell's bars," Alice answered, standing in front of the daughter of Nyx as she briefed her. "It's been there for years. I don't know for sure, but I think it blocks any attempts to shadow-travel past it."

"How do you know that?" I asked. I was standing a little apart from them, leaning against a tree. The rest of the half-bloods were arguing among themselves over who should go in the first group.

A slightly pained look passed over Alice's face, and her voice was lower when she replied, "When we were there for the Flame of Olympus, Nico told me that the bar of iron blocks any energy, shielding the cell."

"Oh," I muttered, lowering my head a little at the mention of the long-missing son of Hades.

Alice was a very useful person to have on this mission, because she, along with Nico, had gone right through Alcatraz, down a hidden tunnel and into Rhea's chamber. The two of them had recovered the Flame of Olympus, and she had important knowledge of the layout of Rhea's chamber.

"I thought her cave would have been destroyed," the daughter of Apollo said to Chiron, who had approached us. "There was so much magic and power flying through the chamber when we escaped. I heard a number of explosions as we ran."

"The residences of Titans are not so easily demolished," the centaur told her, with a grim shake of his head. "Even severe damage can be quickly repaired if the Titan puts their power to work."

I looked over at our troops. They'd sorted themselves out, and were now assembled in two neat groups of eight and seven. I walked over and took my place in the smaller group, alongside Olivia, who had a heavy backpack slung over her right shoulder.

"What's in that?" I asked her, nodding towards the pack. Even without drawing on my sight, I could see a dim fuzz of greenish energy surrounding the bag, like incorporeal hair.

"Some supplies," she said coyly, arching an eyebrow in reply. "Ammunition. Defences. Emergency explosives. Snacks."

I nodded. "I like the sound of that."

We waited, as Alice finished instructing Jane. Chiron stood near them, listening but saying nothing. The edge of the tree line was only a few feet away, but the position of the sun in the sky meant that we were in deep gloom. All around us, the long, broad shadows of trees littered the ground, overlapping and blending together like great brushstrokes. Birds flitted through the branches overhead, but somehow they seemed distant, as though their calls and croaks were merely echoes coming to us from another world.

My usual unease at being in the Black Woods was being totally overshadowed by my nerves about the conflict that lay ahead. Certainly, there was the possibility of a peaceful resolution to all this, but everyone on the team knew that that was about as likely as Rhea giving us cookies and milk.

Alice finished, and she joined the other group. Jane, too, was ready, and she instructed the first group to join hands. They did so, with a couple of the larger, dumber guys making the painfully obvious jokes. The whole procedure took a lot longer than it really should have done, which didn't improve Annabeth's mood. She was in my group, standing just in front of me, and her flickering aura and endless fidgeting showed that she was anxious to keep on schedule.

Finally, the first team got themselves in order. Jane placed one hand on Alice's shoulder, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The shadows surrounding her and the group contorted with a shocking abruptness. The darkness rustled around them for a brief moment like insubstantial leaves and then, in the blink of an eye, they all vanished.

Annabeth stared, with an irritated air, at her watch, as though watching the seconds go by would make them move more quickly. Perhaps she felt that merely glaring at the watch's hands as they ticked along would make them flee before her withering gaze.

(In all fairness, that didn't seem like a wholly unreasonable idea.)

I was about to make some throwaway, time-passing comment to Olivia, when the shadows shivered once again. Jane appeared, alone, in front of us.

"You guys next," she told us. She grinned, as though that first trip had been simple, but as we formed a human chain, she bent over, resting her hands on her knees.

We organised ourselves rather more quickly than the first group, and in about a minute we were ready to move out. Jane took the time to regain her composure, breathing in and out deeply, calming her harried aura without even realising it.

Chiron had been quiet since we'd gathered here at the forest's edge, but he spoke to us a moment before Jane whisked us away to the other side of the country.

"My final advice is to do everything within your power to maintain the peace," he said, with a concerned tone. He spoke mainly to Annabeth - who was the unofficially official leader of our little troupe - and I got the sense that he was building up to say something else. "War is not our first or our only option. We need to seek reconciliation, not conflict."

"That's right," Annabeth nodded, as she checked her knife for the tenth time. "We'll do everything we can, Chiron, I promise."

Jane finished gathering her strength, and took a firm hold of Annabeth's arm.

"And remember," Chiron said to her, more quietly, "remember above everything to be alert. We have planned well, but we may have missed something important. Always be watchful and ready to reconsider."

Annabeth nodded again, and Jane drew in a deep breath, preparing for the shadow-travel. In the brief moment before we were plunged once more into the shadows, Chiron stepped over to stand in front of me, and murmured, "Cyrus."

I looked up at him. His gaze was steady, but he had that air of saying something which he wasn't quite sure of, but which he wanted to say anyway. Chiron looked at me and said simply, "Remember your purpose."

And then we were gone, before I could begin to wonder what he meant.

* * *

The group materialised back onto solid ground, on the other side of the continent, in Alcatraz. We were standing on a deserted floor, high up in the prison. In front of us there was, as Alice had said, a cell with a Stygian iron rod running along the bottom of the bars.

The first group had already pushed upon the bars. A few half-bloods were standing around in the cell, some of them patting the wall in search of the secret entrance, others scanning the floor for non-existent trapdoors. The rest stood outside, looking around for any approaching mortals or monsters.

Annabeth took charge the moment she emerged from the shadow-travelling. Shaking off the effects of the journey without even blinking, she began giving quick, clear orders.

"Three of you guard that side of the level, three of you on the other," she said, making rapid gestures. "Watch for any mortals coming near us, and be ready to use the Mist to make them turn back. Alice, show me how to open the tunnel entrance. The rest of you, keep back until we get the passage open."

Percy and Clarisse stepped out of the cell to let Annabeth and Alice inside. I glanced around us as they examined the back wall of the cell. We were on the highest level of the prison, with the roof not too far above. I could hear people down below, talking and walking around, but no-one seemed to be coming up here. I wondered if the tours normally came all the way up. If they did, it was always possible that the Rheans had put up an illusion to deter the mortals from wandering this way. The last thing any arcane Titan-worshipping cult needs is a camera-toting mortal tourist stumbling upon the entrance to their ominous secret hide-out.

I turned to glance around at the half-bloods. They were all keeping quiet, in case of attracting unwanted attention. In the cell, Alice and Annabeth were holding a frantic conversation: things weren't exactly working out the way they'd expected. I stepped closer to the bars, listening.

"It was right here, I swear," Alice said, pointing at a nondescript patch of dirty wall. "I remember Nico pulling it open. We thought there was going to be some kind of hidden way in, but there just a normal door."

"But that makes no sense," Annabeth murmured, slapping her hand on the wall in frustration. "It can't be just _gone_."

"Maybe they moved the entrance?" suggested Josh, a son of Hermes who was standing next to me. "They heard we were on the way, and they moved it?"

"No, that's not possible," broke in Zack, who stood just behind us. "You can't simply _move_ the entrance to a Titan's residence. You'd have to move the residence itself to a completely different location, but usually that only happens when the centre of western civilisation moves to a different part of the planet."

I looked through the bars, at the blank wall that was meant to hold a door. At first glance, it was just like any other bit of wall, with nothing upon it except dirt and crumbling paint. As I looked closer, though, something about it seemed to shift or shimmer, as though I was looking at a mirage.

"Maybe we're in the wrong cell," Annabeth said, turning away from the wall, shaking her head. "Let's check the other ones on this level."

"Wait," I said involuntarily, still staring at the wall. Something about it seemed to be trembling, but only very slightly. A certain patch was vibrating, as though it was covered by a heat haze, but the wall around that patch was still.

"Let me in," I said, pushing past Josh and a few others to slip into the cell. Annabeth gave me a puzzled look, but Alice understood what I was doing and stood to one side.

"Let him look," she told Annabeth and the other watching demigods. I heard a couple of people making doubtful sounds, but everyone stayed quiet.

With a deep breath and an even deeper tugging in my gut, I focussed, and drew on my pure sight.

As I looked, that slightly-trembling patch of wall seemed to melt before my eyes. It was like a disintegrating hologram - particle by particle, it winked out of existence - revealing the metal door that was hidden behind it.

I blinked in surprise, coming out of my intense concentration.

"There's some kind of illusion blocking the entrance," I said, looking around at Alice, Annabeth and the other demigods at the bars, who were all watching me carefully. "It's not a shadow-based trick, but something else, like a mirage or something. I don't know how we can get around it…"

"Olivia can dispel it," Alice said promptly, turning to look at the team. "Olivia? Where are you?"

"No," Annabeth countermanded, stepping up to the bars. "Olivia needs to save her energy for later. Her brother can do it. Alex! Come over here, please."

The son of Hecate - a sturdily-built fourteen-year-old, with shoulder-length dark hair and small, clear green eyes - appeared outside the cell. Alice stepped out to give him room, and I pointed out where the illusion was hiding the door. He put his hand on the wall, his aura rippling as he examined the energy of the concealment spell.

"I see," Alex nodded. His voice had the same resonant quality as Olivia's. "It's a kind of chameleon charm. It makes the door blend in with the wall around it. Very well done, I gotta say, it's a really nice piece—"

"Okay, great," Annabeth interrupted, looking irritated. "We don't have time to admire magical craftsmanship, I'm afraid. Dispel it, and we'll keep moving."

Alex nodded, unruffled by being cut off. He withdrew some kind of silver amulet from his pocket and, with that clenched in his left hand, he began to work his own magic. As he did so, Annabeth gave us all some new instructions.

"We're not all going down the tunnel together," she told us, raising her voice a little to make sure that everyone heard. "I'm only bringing our less offensive people down there, to begin with."

This wasn't a popular decision. A number of demigods erupted in protest, chiefly the warrior ones.

"That's crazy!" called Percy, from where he stood watching for approaching mortals. "What if there's more Rheans than we know? They could kill you all before you have time to call for help!"

"That's right," Clarisse nodded, scowling over from her position at the railings. "You can't rely on your words to protect you against these people, Annabeth."

The daughter of Athena made no reply, but waited for the dissent to die down, before continuing.

"You're forgetting our goal," she told them, her voice and gaze firm. "We're here to reclaim the ritual, not to have a battle. The first step is to negotiate, and we only fight if it's necessary. If I bring everyone down there right now, Xavier is going to assume we've come to attack, not talk. This has to be done in stages."

Annabeth paused, then added, in a placatory tone, "And remember, if the Rheans attack us and suddenly find our ranks doubled, they'll be disorientated, and we'll gain the advantage."

The protests simmered down at this, as the more warrior-like members of the team understood Annabeth's strategy, even if they didn't fully agree with it.

She went on to pick who'd be part of the negotiation team. She chose the less intimidating section of our group: the two Hermes children, the daughter of Hypnos, Alex, me, herself, Piper and one of the Apollo kids. It struck me, as she laid this out, how carefully Annabeth had chosen her overall team. It was very tightly balanced, with enough fighters to provide a distinct attack force, but also enough peaceable half-bloods to form a credible negotiation team.

It was true what they said: the daughter of Athena _always_ had a plan.

"This is where Alice comes in," she explained, as Percy asked when the second team needed to come down to the chamber. "Alice, I need you to be fully focussed on your foresight from the moment we head down. The secondary team will advance as soon as you sense that it may be necessary."

The daughter of Apollo nodded, looking admirably ready to deal with such a crucial task, though I knew her well enough to sense that she was a lot more nervous than she'd ever let on.

As Annabeth finished explaining this, Alex clapped his hands victoriously.

"Got it!" he declared. We all looked around at him and, sure enough, the illusion was gone. The door - a nondescript, grimy service door - stood visible in front of us.

"Good," Annabeth nodded, her expression neutral now. "Okay, Last thing. Jane and Olivia, you two need to follow my group. Stay about twenty paces behind us, and keep _completely_ silent. Once we enter the chamber, get over to the obelisk and seal it as soon as possible."

Jane, who was the nearest of the two, gave a quick thumbs-up. "Got it."

"Right," the daughter of Athena said, pausing to take a deep breath, before giving the next order.

"Advance team, prepare to descend."

She turned and stepped over to the door. Without breaking step, she pulled open the door to the depths. It swung with a quiet squeal of rust, letting in a blast of cold air from the tunnel, making us shiver. Beyond the door, there was only blackness. Not a sound could be heard coming up from the tunnel, and not even a suggestion of light could be seen.

"What are you all staring at? Hurry up, everyone in the first team get over here," Annabeth snapped. Everyone started moving around, shuffling into the cell or getting out of the way of whoever needed to get to the tunnel. I checked my knife, which was strapped to my belt, and my pockets.

My fingers brushed against that tin which Nico had given me, seemingly so long ago and yet nearly yesterday, and I thought of him, and how he'd once passed here on a quest. I imagined how things would be if he were here now, and wondered, too, if we would be even in this mess if he was still with us.

The advance team was quickly assembled. Everyone was quiet, almost afraid to speak in case they drew a telling-off from Annabeth, which was exactly the atmosphere she needed. There was no time, now, to talk. Total concentration was crucial.

A son of Hephaestus passed Annabeth a wide-beam torch. She switched it on, and drew her dagger. She stepped up to the doorframe, peered inside for a moment, then said over her shoulder, "Come on."

She stepped into the tunnel, and, in a loose line, we followed. It was a small, tight passage, so we had to go in single file. One by one, we slipped into the dark.

I had a strong sense of deja vu as we made our way along. I'd been in quite a few small, dark tunnels back in the summer, and this made me feel as if I was back down in the Underworld. Oddly, that didn't make me feel as uncomfortable as one might expect. Indeed, it made me a little more ready - as though I knew what to expect.

We kept moving in silence, being careful to even breathe quietly. In the utter silence, any instance of noise, any clank of metal or rustle of fabric, seemed to be louder than a nuclear explosion. Jane and Olivia were utterly soundless behind us. After a while, I forgot they were even there.

Eventually, after ten or twelve minutes of careful walking, the passage began to widen out. The air grew colder, the atmosphere becoming heavier as we neared the chamber. A very slight hum seemed to be making everything tremble, just a little. The entire tunnel was shaking, almost imperceptibly, rumbling in tune to a soundless song of growing power.

Then, quicker than I expected, the end of the tunnel came into view. Beyond it lay a dimly-lit chamber - too dark to see into from a distance, but just bright enough to make out the figures moving around in it.

I was a couple of people behind Annabeth. She turned and whispered to us, "We need to enter openly. Don't try to be quiet. We have to show that we don't want to fight."

We all nodded or otherwise communicated understanding. I glanced back at the rest of the team, and the dark tunnel behind. I wondered where Jane and Olivia were, right now.

Annabeth switched off her torch and, performing the strange task of being deliberately noticeable, marched forward. We hurried behind, no longer trying to stay unnoticed. In a moment, we were at the chamber's entrance, and then we were through, standing at the edge of Rhea's stronghold.

It was a great, cavernous place. The ceiling was over twenty feet high, and the air weighed heavily on us. I felt like we were deep underground, perhaps even below the ocean. The chamber, from one end to the other, was at least a half a mile long, and it was similarly wide. Most of it was dark, though, with just a small area being illuminated.

A relatively small circular area, ringed by stone columns, lay about fifteen feet ahead of us. Blazing torches were mounted on the columns, which formed a circle no more than twenty feet wide. Within that, there were smaller circles drawn upon the floor in chalk or paints. As I looked closer, though, I saw that all these circles were broken in one place or another.

At the very centre of all this stood Rhea's obelisk, though perhaps obelisk was the wrong word. It was a great free-standing stone, about eight feet tall and four feet deep. It was perfectly circular, shaped like a coin. The stone was unremarkable, but it was wrapped in an aura of power of such intensity that it seemed close to shattering the great obelisk into tiny pieces.

A ring of men and women stood around Rhea's stone, all wearing similar white robes. Their hands were joined to form a closed circle, and they were chanting quietly. Outside the outer ring of stone columns, there were more Rheans, joined by the hand: one at each pillar, forming a larger human circle.

Only one man was apart from them all. He stood halfway between us and the outer circle of Rheans, holding the ritual book open in his hands. When we entered the chamber, his back was to us, as he focussed on the book. Annabeth was about to speak, when he looked around.

"Well, hello, godlings," said Xavier Graecus, his chalk-white face given an unnatural colour by the flickering flames upon the pillars. "Have you come to begin the war?"


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

_Doing battle with the forces of—_

_I was going to say 'evil', but I'm increasingly unsure exactly where everyone around me falls on the Jedi-Sith Index._

–Jim Butcher, 'White Night'

* * *

I kind of got the feeling Xavier wasn't terribly happy to see us.

I mean, it could have just been my imagination, but the way he produced a big oak staff from underneath his cloak, slammed it on the floor, and yelled for several of his robed friends to leave the circle and prepare to attack us sort of gave the impression that our presence wasn't really welcome.

Still, one should never be discouraged by first impressions. You just never know when someone is secretly very happy that you snuck into their top-secret, forbidden, ominous, apocalyptic shadow-monster-summoning ritual.

"We've come to talk," Annabeth enunciated, seemingly undaunted. She stepped forward, raising her hands. She'd sheathed her dagger, so she was only holding the unlit flashlight. "I don't want to fight you, Xavier. I just want to speak with you."

The Rhean high priest's gaze was cold. His lackeys had assembled behind him - about five or six were standing there brandishing menacing weaponry that didn't make me feel too good about our hopes of negotiation.

"There's nothing to discuss," he replied, his tone expressing the sort of attitude usually shared by brick walls. "We are going to perform the ritual. Nothing you say can stop us or deter us. I demand that you leave now, before we force you to do so."

"You don't understand," Annabeth said, taking a half-step forward, her tone suddenly tinged with desperation. "The gods are now preparing their forces. If you continue with this, they will strike you all down before you have a chance to fight. They seek to bury this chamber, and Rhea with it."

"Ha!" Xavier said, glancing at his fellow priests as though sharing an inside joke, but none of them laughed with him, so they all looked kind of silly. "Lady Rhea is nearly free from her bonds. Such an attack would merely open the way for her to strike back."

"No," Annabeth insisted, stepping closer again and lowering her voice. "You are in great danger, Xavier. You have to listen to me."

I frowned, looking at Annabeth in confusion. What was she talking about? The gods were all back on Olympus, waiting for _us_ to save the day. Why would she say that they were about to strike? Then I realised. She was buying time, keeping Xavier distracted and busy. She was occupying the Rheans' attention while Jane and Olivia slipped past them and sealed off the obelisk.

I was tempted to look around and see if there was any sign of them, but I restrained myself. We couldn't risk giving Xavier even the slightest hint that there was something else going on, that we had more than one piece in the game.

Annabeth's tactics were working, so far. Xavier was listening, albeit reluctantly.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked, even as he lowered his staff and took a less aggressive tone. "The gods are your masters. Why do you not help them to kill us?"

"I don't want that, Xavier." Annabeth was earnest. "None of us do. Our goal is to protect the West - to protect our home. The gods know we're here. They don't really _want_ to destroy you, but they are too proud to come down here themselves. That's why _we've_ come."

I had to admire her nerve. She played the part with perfect ease: the role of the half-blood eager to make peace, not war. Then again, much of it was real, and that was what made it credible.

"Very well," said Xavier, more quietly, his head tilted to one side. "What are your terms?"

But then everything became blinding green light, and the chamber was rumbling, and we were thrown to the ground by some mighty swipe of power, strength that was beyond anything human. The light quickly faded, but my vision was dark and blurry as my eyes tried to readjust.

Then a voice sounded through the cavern - a voice that sounded as though it could crush your very soul, if its owner felt the need.

"Do not be so easily fooled, Graecus," said Rhea.

We all staggered back to our feet - even the Rheans had been knocked down - and I looked around for the source of the voice. It came from the direction of the obelisk, but not from the obelisk itself. A figure, not quite distinct but present nonetheless, had formed in front of the stone.

It was the form of a woman, about eight feet tall, and dressed in ancient robes. Her features were a little blurry, since she was not a solid form but rather a kind of hologram, made up of the same green light that had briefly blinded us. Even so, the sense of power that surrounded her made it obvious that this was the Titan Rhea herself.

"The demigods are craftier than you realise, my servant," she went on. Her voice seemed to be all around us, booming out from the floor and the walls and the ceiling. Xavier was on his feet, staring over at her with an expression that showed both fear and anger.

"What do you mean, my lady?" he asked, in a tone of pure servility.

"This," she replied. She snapped her fingers (even though her fingers were made up of insubstantial light, go figure). In the air in front of Rhea's form, Jane and Olivia shimmered into view. They were suspended at about head-height, frozen in a cloud of that sharp green power. Rhea flicked her hand, and they were thrown through the air towards us. The light dissipated as the two of them fell on the ground, at Annabeth's feet.

"These two sought to bind me in a circle of power," Rhea said, her voice trembling with anger. "Do you _still_ believe that you can trust the half-bloods?"

Jane and Olivia both groaned, struggling to regain their bearings. Xavier whirled around, and gave Annabeth one of the coldest stares I have ever seen. His fist clenched tight on his staff, and he raised it as though he was about to blast us into oblivion.

And then, faster than I thought possible, Annabeth was lunging towards him. He jerked away automatically, but she was too quick. The ritual book was in his left hand, but his grip was loose, and she yanked it away from him before the Rhean could react. Then she pulled back, and was about to turn, but that green light filled the air again. Annabeth was expecting it, though, and she dived to the ground, yelling at us to do the same.

And then the light faded away, and everyone was on the floor, but we were up faster, and Jane and Olivia were on their feet too. We ran, tearing towards the tunnel that would lead us out of the chamber, back up to safety, back up to the light.

But we weren't fast _enough_.

There was a yell, and a thud of footsteps, and the Rheans were on us. Xavier reached Jane first, and nearly knocked her out with one blow, but Olivia pulled her out of the way. Another Rhean, a dark-haired woman with a fixed gaze and a long sword, was coming towards me. I took a deep breath, trying to find my rhythm, before ducking under her guard. I twisted the sword from her grasp, and abruptly she dropped to the floor, felled by a flat blow to the head from Annabeth.

But more Rheans were surging towards us now, moving as one, like robed automatons. Swords and other weapons clashed all around me, creating a staccato metallic tune that rang out through the whole chamber. Near me, Jane clenched her fists and slammed her foot on the ground. A wave of shadows swept out from her, ploughing into the Rheans and driving them back a few steps.

"Come on!" Jane yelled, already turning to head for the exit. We started to follow her, using the moment of opportunity she'd created. Xavier and his henchpeople came after us quickly, but we were a few steps ahead now, and if we could just get into the tunnel, we could easily defend our escape—

"What the hell?" Annabeth shouted out. I looked at her, then up at the tunnel entrance. There were figures emerging from the passageway, lots of them, pouring into the chamber at an almost implausible speed. At first I thought it was the second half of the team, coming down to save the day.

Then we drew closer, and I realised that that wasn't the case at all. As one, we hurtled to a halt, before we threw ourselves into this crowd of newcomers.

"Oh," said Alex, a few steps in front of me, his grim tone reflecting the despair we all felt as we watched our new nightmare arrive. "Shit."

I felt that was a very accurate analysis of the situation.

It wasn't our friends who were pouring into the chamber. It wasn't the half-blood equivalent of a SWAT team advancing to support our escape. It was an army of monsters - monsters of all kinds, terrible creatures of all varieties, every one of them surging towards us like a deadly wave of killing death.

"Jesus Christ," I heard Jane curse. It struck me that the Rheans hadn't overtaken us, even though they should have done so by now. I glanced over my shoulder: Xavier and his fellows were frozen, too, staring at the oncoming monsters in confused horror.

They didn't know what was going on, either. These monsters were being sent by someone else entirely.

"Fall back!" Annabeth yelled, seeing what I saw, too. "Everyone, fall back!"

A few people looked at her in surprise, but we did as she ordered, quickly retreating. The Rheans backtracked too, no longer trying to attack us, just attempting to get away from the invading force. The monsters came slowly towards us across the chamber floor - there seemed to be an endless number of them coming through the passage, a wave of destruction poised to crash on us. We kept moving, scrambling to keep out of the monsters' reach.

We reached the outer ring of Rheans, who were glancing over their shoulders in alarm, even as they continued their chant.

"Establish defences!" Annabeth called out, readjusting to the situation. "Alex and Olivia, use your stones to create a shield. Jane, keep them back with your shadow powers." She pushed her way through the crowd to speak to Xavier, while the children of Hecate produced stones from their bags and began forming a line across the floor with them.

The flow of monsters had slowed, and they were moving towards us at a walking pace. Jane stepped forward, her fists balled at her sides. She closed her eyes, drawing in a long breath, and stamped one foot, then the other.

Two waves of darkness, larger than the shadows she'd summoned previously, barrelled from her aura and into the leading lines of monsters. Some of them were vaporised on impact, while others were shoved backwards into the weapons and claws of those behind them. This caused chaos, as creatures exploded into yellow dust. The advance of the army paused, giving us a moment to prepare. Jane crouched down onto her hunkers, breathing heavily.

I turned away, and slipped over to Annabeth and Xavier, who were talking rapidly.

"This had nothing to do with us," the Rhean was saying, shaking his head, frantic. "I don't know who these creatures belong to."

"Neither do I," said Annabeth, glancing at the defensive line that the rest of the half-bloods were forming. Alex and Olivia had laid six stones, a metre between each one, in a line across the ground. A half-blood stood behind each stone, their weapons ready. The two children of Hecate stood at either end of the line, crouched on the ground, their hands resting on their respective stones as they murmured quick, indecipherable Greek incantations.

I could see the cogs turning behind Annabeth's eyes as she looked at the monsters, who'd started to move forwards again.

"We need to make a temporary truce," she said, turning back to Xavier, who'd been giving brusque orders to his underlings. "Neither your team nor mine is strong enough to fight our way out of here, but if we work together we can survive. We'll discuss the ritual once we've successfully avoided being slaughtered."

Xavier glanced over to Rhea's obelisk, as though searching for guidance, but there was no sign of the Titan. Then he looked back at Annabeth, and nodded.

"Good," she said, with a strong tone of relief. She glanced at me, and started to say, "Now—"

A blood-curdling sound suddenly filled the whole cave, as the monsters picked up speed and hurtled straight towards us, modt of them letting out terrible, discordant battle cries. I tensed, tightening my grip on my knife, and got ready to be plunged into a maelstrom of death.

And then, just before the army crashed into us, the children of Hecate clapped their hands in unison, and stood up. A line of bright green light bounced from stone to stone, linking them like beads on a string. As the monsters came within a couple of feet, a solid, transparent wall of green light shimmered into view over the stones, about ten feet high, stretching the length of the defensive line.

The monsters didn't even break stride, and they crashed right into the shield. That chilling battle-scream turned into an even more chilling shriek of pain, as the first three or four lines of creatures were vaporised by the energy of the green shield, which rippled with power even as countless monsters hurtled into it. The air on the opposite side of our defensive line became thick with yellow dust, as swarms of these nightmarish beasts were destroyed on contact with the wall of magical energy.

"Wow," I said, glancing at Annabeth, who was surveying it all with an impassive air. "That's pretty awesome."

The monsters sure didn't think it was awesome. After fifty or more were blown to yellow dust, they finally realised that it wasn't such a good idea to throw themselves into that glowing green wall thing. They halted their charge, and stood glaring through the shield at us. It was eerie, the glistening fangs and claws held just metres away by a tenuous barrier of magic and will.

"Well," muttered one of the Hermes kids, who stood next to Olivia. "This is turning out to be an eventful day."

Annabeth stepped up to the shield, eyeing it. To my great alarm, she raised one hand and reached through the energy. I was afraid she would explode or something, but her hand passed through unscathed.

"We can move through the shield?" she asked Olivia, who nodded from her position on the left-hand end of the wall.

"It keeps the monsters out, but anyone with any mortal blood can pass through," the daughter of Hecate explained, leaning on her sword. I felt a sense of deja vu, as I thought back to facing that army of ghosts back at the Empire State Building. That already seemed like a tiny skirmish by comparison with this trap.

"We need to perform the ritual," said Xavier, stepping up beside Annabeth. "We can use its energy to destroy these creatures."

The daughter of Athena still had the tome under her right arm. How she'd managed to hang onto it in the midst of everything else was beyond me. She cast a dark look up at Xavier (who towered over all of us) and began to speak, but just then Mark, a son of Apollo who stood at a stone in front of us, called out.

"Look!" he said, pointing into the crowd of monsters.

We looked into the horde of creatures, searching for what he saw. At first I thought the monsters were starting to move forward again, but then I realised it was something very different: someone was making their way through the crowd, and the creatures were moving out of the way to let them through. I couldn't see who it was, but we all watched their approach by looking at the movement of monsters shuffling aside to let the newcomer pass.

(There was something slightly comedic about all these fearsome, nightmarish beasts politely stepping out of the way, but I guess even monsters have manners sometimes.)

The newcomer drew nearer and nearer, but the light was dim, and still we couldn't see who it was. It was only when he broke through the front line of the army and stepped up to the shield that we saw his face.

"Hi, guys," said Jake Wilson, his hands stuck in his pockets, as though we were all just meeting at the mall.

We stared at him for a long moment. I don't think I was the only one completely confused just then. What on earth was he doing here?

Annabeth was the first to regather her senses.

"Are these your forces?" she demanded, facing Wilson squarely. She was a good inch taller than him, though he didn't seem even remotely intimidated. "Are you here on the son of Chaos's behalf?"

He didn't answer her, not so much as meeting her eyes. He looked around at our defensive line, calmly taking in the magic stones, checking who was here. He'd seen me as soon as he'd emerged from the army, but he looked at me last, and grinned as though he'd just realised I was here.

"Glad you could come, Cyrus," Wilson said, rubbing his hands together. He looked back at Annabeth, and spoke to her finally. "And yeah, I'm here for Tartarus. Of course I am, I don't know why you're all so surprised. You think I was going to just let this ritual go ahead? I mean, come on."

I frowned._ What did he just say?_

"Don't try to play your mind games with me, Jake," Annabeth said, her tone and expression remaining impassive. "You aren't going to fool me. _We_ came to stop this ritual, so if you're telling the truth, you can go ahead and leave."

Wilson frowned, looking surprised, though I couldn't tell if it was feigned or not. He glanced quickly at Xavier, then back at Annabeth, and his expression lightened, as though he was understanding something.

"Ah," he breathed, breaking into a chuckle. "You think… oh, you do, don't you. You all think _that_?"

"What are you talking about?" Annabeth said, her face tightening, her aura beginning to shiver with anger.

A terrible sensation of vague, morbid realisation lurched through me, as questions began to form and ideas started to fit together in my mind.

"You've gotten it all wrong," Wilson said, shaking his head, as though disappointed with us. "You've made a… well, a colossal mistake, let's face it."

"What," Annabeth growled, through gritted teeth, "are you talking about?"

The half-bloods manning the defensive rocks watched us warily. My gaze flickered between Wilson's raised eyebrows, Xavier's puzzled frown, Annabeth's clenched fist, and the book, the book that was the centre of it all. We'd gotten it wrong. A mistake. A colossal mistake. It had never even occurred to me. None of us had thought of it, not even Chiron.

Wilson's gaze met mine, and he tilted his head back. He could see it in my eyes, I knew, he could see that I was realising where we'd gone wrong.

"I'm talking about your error of judgement," the son of Erebus replied, looking back at Annabeth. "A pretty massive one, I gotta say. I'm not sure exactly how to explain this…" He paused, and turned to Xavier. "Could you tell us what the ritual does, Mr. Graecus?"

The Rhean scowled, as though he thought Wilson was mocking him. "You know what it does, why—"

"Just tell them," Wilson said, gesturing impatiently at me and Annabeth.

Xavier turned to us, and with an air of confusion, as though he thought we knew this already, he said, "This is a binding ritual, designed to strengthen the subject's bonds."

My heart didn't just sink: it fell into the pit of Tartarus itself.

"What?" Annabeth whispered, her gaze desolate as she stared at him.

"This ritual," Xavier said, raising his eyebrows, surprised by our reactions. "Its purpose is ensuring the subject's imprisonment. My fellow Rheans and I seek to maintain the integrity of the son of Chaos's prison, so as to halt his rise. We are attempting to secure the safety of western civilisation itself."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

_Many things are not as they seem. The worst things in life never are._

–Jim Butcher, 'White Night'

* * *

"You're lying," Annabeth said, her voice hollow, shaking her head. "You have to be."

"He isn't, Annabeth," Wilson said reassuringly, as though he was a trustworthy source on such matters. "Xavier, how about you show our friends what the ritual instructions say?"

The Rhean's dark expression showed his reluctance to do _anything_ the son of Erebus suggested, but nonetheless he eased the book from Annabeth's grasp. He quickly opened on the correct page, and pointed at a heading at the top.

"Read from there," he told Annabeth, who did so, looking at the Greek writing with narrowed eyes. I watched her. Her air of suspicion faded as she read, her eyes widening. She turned a couple of pages over, checking what came before the page Xavier was showing her, before snapping the book shut with a look of frustration clear on her face.

"He's telling the truth," Annabeth said to me, her voice tight.

"_What_?" I exclaimed.

"The ritual," she said, rubbing her temples. "I never got to read past the first couple of pages. If I had, I would've seen the part that explains that the whole rite is designed to _suppress_ the son of Chaos, not to raise him up."

My jaw slowly dropped open as I finally took this in. We'd been getting it wrong? All along?

What the hell?

"But surely the gods knew about this?" said Jane, who'd stepped over to us. "Why didn't they tell us?"

"The gods don't know everything, Jane," Wilson said quietly, from the other side of the shield. "They're as prone to mistakes as humans, if not more. Sometimes they just… get it wrong."

His voice trailed off, and an uneasy silence filled the air. Jane, Annabeth and I looked at each other with various degrees of horrified expressions, while the other demigods glanced around uneasily, unsure what to do.

I felt the same. This was the one thing that had never even occurred to me, not for a second, and yet it was such an obvious mistake. It was an incredibly basic fact-checking operation that I - and, obviously, the gods - hadn't even considered making, and all because I'd completely believed what Chiron and the gods had told me. All this time, Xavier had effectively been on our side, and we hadn't even realised it.

No wonder the guy was mad at us all.

Annabeth was the first one of us to act. With a sudden movement, as though she was shaking off her frustration like it was nothing more than cobwebs, she turned to Xavier.

"Do it now," she said, offering him the tome brusquely. "Perform the ritual, as fast as you can."

He eyed her with an air of confusion. I couldn't really blame the guy. This whole situation was like a lesson in how to send absurdly mixed messages. We could've given the American government a seminar.

"_Hurry_!" she urged him. Xavier blinked, took the book, and then turned away, starting to hand out rapid orders to his Rhean team. They began to reform the outer circles, moving with practiced efficiency. The inner circle had remained undisturbed throughout the last few minutes' turmoil.

I looked back at Wilson, who was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, watching us with an air of polite amusement.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" I challenged him, stepping up to look him right in the eye. "You could have told me, back at Olympus Library, but you let us make this mistake."

Wilson tilted his head to one side, seemingly trying hard not to laugh. "Yeah, I could have done that. But… well, what would be the point? It's not like you would have _believed_ me."

I stared at the son of Erebus for a moment, resisting the urge to lunge at him. Here he was again, playing a game with us all, just like his master. I'd thought I understood him, I'd been convinced that I could see through all of his tricks. Now I was wondering if he was making other moves on the board that I couldn't see, whether he was pulling other tricks that I couldn't even imagine.

I wondered, too, just how important Wilson was to Tartarus. Maybe he, after all, was the real mind behind the shadow-king's rise.

"But how could the gods get it so wrong?" Jane murmured behind me, jolting me from a spiral of anger that would have ended in me trying to strangle Jake Wilson with his own sword. "We're supposed to believe in them. How do we know, now, what's true? How can we trust them?"

I glanced to my left, Annabeth was conferring with Olivia, discussing our defences. I looked around at Jane. Her eyes was full of doubt, as her gaze flickered between me and Wilson.

"It's just a mistake," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "Everyone makes mistakes, right? These things happen."

But I couldn't even convince myself. As I looked Jane in the eye, I saw my own thoughts reflected back at me. Both she and I were wondering how many other mistakes the gods had made. If they'd messed up on something as basic, and yet as crucial as this, how could we be sure of anything else we'd been told? And then, if we couldn't have certain trust in the gods, how did we choose a side in these kinds of conflict?

I opened my mouth slowly, though I didn't know what I was going to say, or even if I was going to speak to Jane or Wilson. Luckily, Annabeth interrupted us.

"You cannot break our defences," she told Wilson calmly, her knife held tight in her hand. She glanced over her shoulder - the Rheans had fully reassembled, and now seemed to be beginning the early stages of the ritual. "You can throw all the monsters you want at us, but we will not budge. You might as well go home, Jake."

"What if I step through this shield and break it from the inside?" was the reply. "All I have to do is kick a few stones. What then?"

I raised my own knife as Annabeth stepped forwards with hers, though Jane stood still, her sword sheathed.

"I'd like to see you try that," Annabeth replied, sounding slightly more cheerful, as though relishing the chance to loose her frustrations in a battle to the death.

Wilson just shrugged. Nothing we said seemed to faze him, but I didn't know if that was an act or genuine confidence. He had an impenetrable poker face.

"It's okay," he said, half-turning away. "_I_ don't need to break your shield. I'll get someone else to do it for me."

Without another word, he strolled off into the ranks of the monsters, who by now were positively frothing at the mouth to attack again. Uneasy, I glanced at Annabeth, but the daughter of Athena's calm was unruffled. Her poker face was pretty solid, too.

"He's just trying to psych us out, make us out doubt our own abilities," she assured me, her eyes darting around, watching everything. "Standard mind game crap. We just need to stay here until the Rheans complete the ritual, and then we get the hell out of here."

She glanced at Jane, who was still standing near us. "Jane, back to your post, please. Stay vigilant."

The daughter of Nyx obeyed, though I was sure there was a slight air of mutinous irritation in the way she drew her sword. I got the feeling that she wasn't quite ready to dismiss the Olympians' woeful factual error as a forgivable mistake.

A rumble of power juddered through the chamber abruptly, making all of us glance around. The two rings of Rheans were now rings of power - dim, greyish-green energy swathed both circles, wreathing around each individual Rhean and linking them all together. Even as we watched, the magical energy trembled and stretched upwards, so that the people who made up the circles were sealed behind walls of solid light. The sheer intensity of the gathered power made the ambient temperature rise, and I thought I saw smoke drift from the tips of the some of the Rheans' hair.

I searched for Xavier, and spotted him within the outer circle, but outside of the inner one. One hand held the book open before him, while the other was raised in the air, making quick, indecipherable gestures, as he chanted along with his fellow magicians.

And then, quite suddenly, the sounds of human voices rang out from the other side of the chamber, from the back of the monster army. As one, we turned to squint over the heads of the snarling creatures, trying to ignore their threatening leers as we searched for our approaching friends.

The second half of our team was forcing their way into the chamber, hacking a path through the monsters that crowded the entrance. Percy led the charge, his sword a vague blur of bronze as he cut down creature after creature. The rest followed close behind, clearing whole clumps of monsters with every step. Jake's forces looked surprised by the arrival of this cavalry, and were struggling to organise themselves.

"Finally," Annabeth murmured, sounding relieved. "I was starting to wonder if they were ever going to get down here."

As Percy (very slowly) made his way into the chamber, he glanced around, searching for us. He quickly caught Annabeth's eye, and waved.

"How did Wilson get the monsters past them?" I wondered aloud, as Annabeth waved back. "They were up at the main entrance to the tunnel. Surely he had to go right past them."

"He must have shadow-travelled right into the passage and summoned the monsters from there," she replied, her eyes flickering around the chamber as she made other calculations. "Though how he had the strength to summon so many monsters…"

The others continued their slow progress, incrementally ploughing through the monsters, which seemed to be unable to land a successful attack on any one of the demigods. I watched closely: they were making steady progress, but it was going to take some time for them to reach us. I couldn't help wondering if Wilson was going to pull another trick before they broke through to us..

And then it all changed.

The half-bloods' forward movement sped up, and the monsters seemed to be literally melting before them. At first I thought that the team was just fighting faster and better, but it didn't seem quite right. Percy and the others didn't notice the shift, though, but advanced forward, picking up speed as the monsters faded away, row by row.

"What the hell?" Alex murmured. Annabeth shifted around, tense, not taking her eyes off the approaching demigods. The monster army kept vanishing, keeping pace with the strike team as they sped up. Rank after rank was vanishing into thin air, but something was wrong, and I finally realised what it was.

There was no yellow dust. The monsters weren't being destroyed: something was simply removing them from the half-bloods' path.

Before I could say this out loud, I felt a ripple of energy behind me. I whirled around, and my stomach dropped into an abyss.

"Holy Zeus," Annabeth whispered, as she looked around too.

Wilson was standing between us and the outer ritual circle, his arms folded, and all around him, the monsters were shimmering back into view. Creature after creature formed around him, snarling and ready to eat us all alive. The demigods on our side of the shield let out cries of alarm as the forces of darkness solidified on the wrong side of our defences.

But wait. This wasn't right either.

My mind racing, I narrowed my eyes, drawing on my sight with more speed than I'd ever managed before. I focussed, looking at the monsters with pure clarity, and they, along with Wilson, vanished before me.

They were just an illusion. They weren't really there.

Time seemed to be slowing down as I looked back around at our friends, who were racing towards us now, as the real monsters finished disappearing from view. They charged, Percy in the lead, their faces full of anger and determination, as they came to rescue their friends - or so they thought.

My own thoughts moved at light-speed. From the point of view of Percy's team, it looked like the army of monsters was about to tear into us. They couldn't see it was just an illusion - it looked like we were in mortal danger - and so they were about to charge in.

But that, I realised, was going to be disastrous.

Wilson had tricked us again.

"Stop!" I yelled, throwing up my arms in a desperate attempt to halt them, but they were going too fast, and they didn't hear or understand me. The people on our side of the defensive wall were too busy staring at the illusionary monsters behind us to notice my cries.

The half-bloods steamrolled to the rescue, crashing through our shield - and sending the stones that formed that shield flying through the air.

All hell broke loose.

In the blink of an eye, Wilson's illusion popped out of existence, while the real monster army rematerialised in front of us, just as our shield came down. Everyone apart from me stared around in total confusion.

And then the monsters fell upon us.

There was no time to form a strategy. Everything dissolved into a whirlwind of struggle, an incomprehensible battle for survival. Every atom of the air was filled with a sword or a claw or an arm or a snarling mouth. I turned around and around, trying to avoid being taken down from behind, drawing on all my training just to stay alive.

A dracaena burst towards me out of the chaos, almost tearing my face off, but I slashed once, twice, and it dissolved into those tiny yellow particles. I tried not to look at the ground, but even in the periphery of my vision I could see countless little portals into Tartarus opening as the monsters were slain. Some other creature, a sort of miniature minotaur, was practically on top of me, and I stabbed at it, but the blade of my knife skittered along its rock-hard stomach. The thing was just about to throw me to the ground when it exploded, and I caught a brief glance of Kevin's face before he vanished again in the chaos.

The rumbling from the ritual circle grew louder. The two rings of power were glowing brighter, as magical energy swirled around and around, both inside the circles and out. Rhea's obelisk was surrounded in a nova of light so strong that just glancing at it almost burnt my retinas. Monsters kept stumbling into the outer ring of power, vaporising on impact with the trembling green light. Several half-bloods nearly got pushed into it, but managed to keep from incineration.

Suddenly I found myself back to back with Annabeth.

"What the Hades happened?" she shouted, as she kicked a Laistrygonian in the stomach before slashing its head off.

"Wilson tricked us," I called back, stabbing another monster in the back before it could decapitate a half-blood with a big crescent-shaped axe. "He used his powers to move the real monsters and make Percy's team think we were in trouble."

"Forget about that," yelled Kevin, as he stumbled into the tiny clearing that was forming around Annabeth and me. "What the hell do we do now?"

The daughter of Athena glanced around quickly, assessing the situation. Her aura sparked with white light as her mind ran at top speed. We seemed to be holding up well against the onslaught, but the whole team was strewn out around the chamber in twos and threes, too busy surviving to communicate with the rest. It would be impossible to coordinate everyone if things stayed this way.

Then again, nothing ever stays one way or the other in a battle. It is a still moment of constant change, every second totally different to the previous one as you put your very soul into the fight for life.

"We have to hang in here, until the ritual is complete," Annabeth said finally, wiping sweat from her forehead before dodging a spear thrown by a particularly eager telkhine. "We can deal with these monsters so long as another factor isn't introduced."

Kevin nodded, and stepped back into the depths of the melee. I watched him for a second, as he took down creatures three at a time, and then a flicker of movement by the chamber entrance caught my eye. I squinted, even as I weaved around countless flailing attacks: someone else had come in through the passageway, but I couldn't see who it was. Luckily our attackers were focussing less on Annabeth and me, as the daughter of Athena's fighting skills deterred them so completely. I was able to stare in the newcomer's direction, trying to see who it was.

As I watched, they drew a sword - a sword with a black blade, one that could only have been made from Stygian iron.

A chill went down my spine. It couldn't be. It couldn't.

Could it?

It was impossible.

But the newcomer came across the chamber, stepping near enough for his face to be illuminated by the light cast by the magic circles, and for his aura to come into my view, and there was no doubting it.

That sword wasn't just any sword: it was the weapon of a son of Hades, and a son of Hades was wielding it.

"Look!" I cried, tugging Annabeth's left arm and pointing. She finished killing yet another monster, and looked around.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her aura dwindling down in a moment of awful shock. "What's he doing here?"

Nico di Angelo stepped further into the chamber, and looked directly at us.

"Nico!" I yelled, forgetting that I was in the middle of mortal combat. I jumped up and down, waving my arms. "Over here! Over here!"

I couldn't believe it: here he was, after all that time, emerging from the darkness, somehow returned from the depths of the abyss itself. It was almost too good to be true.

In fact, it was.

"Cyrus," Annabeth said quietly, her initial expression of joy tightening into wary anger. "I think something's wrong."

The battle raged around us, and only two spots in the whole chamber were still: the area around Nico, and the area around Annabeth and me. We stared over at him, and he glared back at us, but there was no trace of recognition in his face. He took another step forward, and I caught a clear glimpse of his eyes.

My heart sank as I saw what was there.

Now we knew how Wilson had gotten so many monsters into the chamber without going through the main entrance. He would never have been able to do it himself. As strong as he may have become, he would still have needed the special powers of a son of Hades.

And he had it.

Nico's eyes were solid black: completely, utterly dark, without even the whites visible. His aura, too, was a solid dark colour, without the variations of grey and lighter black with which I was so familiar. His face was paler than I'd ever seen it, and even from a distance I could sense an air of intense darkness enveloping him. As we watched, he looked down at the ground, and stomped his foot. A crack opened in the stone, and a whole new cohort of creatures clambered up from the depths, into the chamber to join the fight.

"He—What— How…" I stuttered, as our view was obscured by a fresh wave of enemies. My arms moved slowly, and I just about cut down a telkhine before it reached my throat.

"Someone's done something to him," Annabeth shouted, as she ducked a throwing-net, and the rumbles of power from the ritual circle grew louder. "I don't know. We can't worry about it now, we just have to stop him."

"What?" I looked at her, hopelessly confused. I'd just seen my friend returned to me, only to find that he was changed in some terrible way, and now we had to… what? Fight him?

"He's the source of the monsters, Cyrus," Annabeth told me, meeting my gaze for a brief moment. Her eyes were filled with pain, but her mouth was set in a determined line. "If he was here - _really_ here - he'd tell us to stop him, too."

My mouth opened as I tried to process this. Annabeth's eyes widened. "Behind you!"

I whirled, and managed to avoid being eaten by some kind of creature I'd never even seen before. Slowly, as I fought, I understood what had happened to my oldest half-blood friend, and that knowledge made me fight harder than ever before. Emotions of all kinds filled me as I killed monster after monster - rage, relief, grief, and something else, too. A thirst. A wish - a need - for revenge.

I couldn't fight Nico. It would be like fighting my own family. I just couldn't do it.

But I could fight the person who'd done this to him.

"Alright," I yelled over my shoulder at Annabeth. "You deal with him, but I'm going to do something else."

"What?" she cried, briefly glancing at me in alarm, before kicking a dracaena into a Cyclops. Both of them fell to the ground in a screaming tussle.

My jaw clenched, and I looked around at the battle with a searching eye. My grip on my knife tightened as I scanned the melee for the flash of that other Stygian blade, the one wielded by my enemy.

"I'm going to stop him," I told Annabeth, emotion making my voice crack. "I'm going to stop Wilson."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

_"__Why didn't you just… kill me?"_

_"__You don't fear death. You welcome it. Your punishment must be more severe."_

_"__Torture?"_

_"__Yes. But not of your body. Of your soul."_

_"__Where am I?"_

_"__Home, where I learned the truth about despair, as will you. There's a reason why this prison is the worst hell on earth. Every man who has rotted here over the centuries has looked up to the light and imagined climbing to freedom. So easy. So simple. And like shipwrecked men turning to seawater from uncontrollable thirst, many have died trying. I learned here that there can be no true despair without hope. So, as I terrorise Gotham, I will feed its people hope to poison their souls… We will destroy Gotham, and then, when it is done, and Gotham is… ashes, then you will have my permission to die."_

–'The Dark Knight Rises'

* * *

I forced my way through the battle, casting around for any sign of the son of Erebus. I drew on my sight, searching for Wilson's distinctive aura. Monsters and demigods whirled and clashed around me, like some kind of terrible storm made up of people and creatures rather than wind and rain.

The air was growing heavier than ever, crackling with tension as the ritual picked up in intensity. The two rings of power were growing brighter, illuminating more of the chamber with that eerie green glow. The light made the monsters seem even more nightmarish, turning their snarling faces into ghoulish apparitions; and it made the demigods look like half-solid warrior spirits, who fought endlessly, ducking and spinning, as they danced along the line between life and death.

It seemed an equal match to the inner turmoil whirling within me.

And then, I pushed through a disordered crowd of demigods and monsters, and found myself standing right in front of Wilson himself.

I glanced around. I'd somehow ended up at one of the chamber walls, and now I was standing at the very edge of the battle. Wilson stood with his back to the wall, his arms folded, as he watched the half-bloods fight for their lives.

"Hi, Cyrus," he said, talking over the noise of the fighting.

Anger boiled up in me as I met his eyes. All this, _he_ had brought about: Nico, this battle, all the conflict. Maybe Tartarus was our real enemy, but Wilson was our enemy's main agent. After all, the son of Chaos could only do so much in his prison at the Edge of the West.

And Wilson was no different to the rest of us. He was as much a part of western civilisation as anyone else. He had no right to bring everything down, just because he was angry that his mother was dead.

"What did you do to him?" I yelled, closing the gap between us with a couple of strides. I stood about four feet in front of the son of Erebus, my knife raised to attack or defend.

"To who?" Wilson said, raising his eyebrows, even though he knew exactly who.

"Nico," I shouted at him, throwing the words in his arrogant face. "You've changed him, brainwashed him, I don't know. What is it? What did you do?"

Wilson shrugged, glancing away from me. "Nico did that to himself. Nobody asked him to sacrifice himself to save you and Alice. Anything that happened to him after that choice is his own responsibility."

Any fragments of control that I'd had on my anger were blown away by his callousness. I dived forward, with every intent of stabbing Wilson in the heart.

But he was fast. He'd been expecting my attack, and before I could even blink, he'd drawn his sword and blocked me. Without even changing stance, he counterattacked once, then twice, then once more. I blocked, again and again, as he pushed me slowly backwards. I nearly twisted under his guard and disarmed him, but he shoved me back.

We stumbled into the battle, almost losing one another in the crowd. I drew closer to Wilson, trying to duck under his defence like Annabeth had once taught me. This caught him a little by surprise, and I got him on the defensive, as I made attack after attack. He blocked or dodged them all, but I was gaining ground and keeping the pressure on him.

We slowly moved around the chamber, slashing and stabbing at each other. A couple of feet of space was always around us, as the monsters gave Wilson a wide berth. The demigods paid us little attention, busy as they were trying not to die. All the while, I fought with everything I had, putting my anger, my fear, and my uncertainty into my battle against the son of Erebus.

Suddenly, Wilson changed tactics. He flicked his left hand, and a whip of shadows was abruptly curling through the air towards me. I ducked, giving Wilson the space to kick me in the stomach.

I stumbled backwards a number of feet, wheezing, coming to a halt around the spot where our shield used to be. I bent over, hands on my knees, desperately trying to regain my breath as Wilson strolled towards me.

Then, a high, painful screaming sound rang out from behind me, filling the whole chamber with an awful noise. I looked around: at the centre of the inner ritual circle, a spiral of darkness was appearing in the ground, rustling around in front of Rhea's obelisk like an ethereal whirlpool. The screaming noise was like iron nails scraping down a great chalkboard, and it screeched out in one continuous note from the centre of the spiral of shadows.

"What the hell is that?" I muttered aloud.

"It's all part of the ritual," Wilson said suddenly. I looked around, cursing myself for letting my guard down. He was standing in front of me again, his sword held loosely in front of him.

"The ritual is meant to repress Tartarus," he told me conversationally, like he was giving commentary on a sporting event. "But to do that, they need to connect with Tartarus' prison. What you see there is a portal right down to where his consciousness is imprisoned, beneath the Sea of Chaos."

The screeching sound spiked for a moment, making me and many other people clamp our hands over our ears. When it died down, Wilson went on calmly.

"It's very dangerous for them, though," he told me. "The ritual can backfire, which _could_ lead to Tartarus' prison actually being weakened. Still, Xavier and his friends seem to have a tight control over the situation."

"That's right," I said, spitting the words at him. "See? Even after all your tricks, you're still going to fail."

With that, I threw myself at him, fighting harder than ever before. I don't know where I got the strength, because deep down I felt so tired, but I kept going, driven on by my anger and frustration. My knife was a blur as I moved instinctively, desperately trying to break through Wilson's defences, but he had the advantage of a longer blade and a lot more experience. Every one of my attacks was stopped just short, and each one of his seemed to get closer to their target.

Around us, the monsters were gradually being reduced in numbers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Percy and Annabeth together fighting Nico, trying to take him down without hurting their old friend too badly. Now and then, a human cry of pain rang out, as a demigod fell at a monster's blow. I could never tell if they were alive or dead.

Wilson, though, seemed to be tiring, and a surge of energy ran through me. With a moment of dexterity which I didn't know I had, I twisted my knife in at an angle, and disarmed Wilson. His blade clattered to the ground, and, feeling an overwhelming need for revenge, I kicked him in the stomach. He fell to his knees with a groan.

I stood over him, triumphant. I kicked his sword away, and it span across the floor, disappearing into the crowd of the battle. Wilson looked up at me slowly, his breath coming short as he tried to recover.

I raised my arms in the air, resisting the urge to kick him again.

"You're screwed, Jake," I said, yelling over the growing scream of the ritual. "You never had a chance. Surrender, dammit. Maybe you can find a way to set things right."

He looked up at me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. I stared back at him, unsure what to do next. The wise thing would be to immediately render him unconscious, but something held me back. Now that I'd had my moment of victory, my anger was deflating. I began to think that maybe, even now, Wilson could try to redeem himself. It wasn't too late, surely?

That's why I wasn't ready.

Wilson's mouth opened slowly, as though he was coming to some resolution in himself. I drew in a slow breath, hoping against the odds that he was about to surrender at last.

And then, before I could even blink, he surged upwards and shoved me hard. I stumbled back several feet, and then he struck me with a lasso of shadow, making me fall back further. I felt burning heat on the back of my neck, and I knew that I had my back to the ritual circle. Panic suddenly filled me as I thought of those monsters being vaporised by a brief contact with the burning green power.

Before I could even think to move, Wilson clapped his hands together.

A wave of shadow, far more powerful than any Jane could summon, exploded out from Wilson's aura. It flew across the chamber floor, slammed into me, and flung me into the air. I span, head over heels, through the first ritual circle, before sailing over the heads of the Rheans in the inner circle and landing flat on my back - right on top of that whirlpool of shadow.

For a tiny, eye-blink-brief moment, I registered that the energy of the magic circles hadn't incinerated me.

That was my last thought, before darkness consumed me.

My vision went black, and I could see nothing, nothing at all. Then, I felt as though I was falling, plummeting deep down into the very centre of the planet. A terrible, bone-deep coldness was all around me, and an infinite, impenetrable expanse of shadow, darkness that was swallowing me up entirely. Everything was breaking down: I couldn't feel my body, and my mind felt like it was disintegrating. A great pressure slowly sank upon my very soul, as though my life was being crushed under an unmovable weight.

Words came echoing back into my mind, like a voice calling down to me in the pit.

_But to do that they need to connect with Tartarus' prison. What you see there is a portal right down to where his consciousness is imprisoned, beneath the Sea of Chaos._

Understanding drifted to me. The Rheans had connected with the mind of Tartarus, but they'd had their magic to make sure that connection was one-way. They could use the ritual energy to shield themselves, but I had no protection at all, and I was being connected - exposed - to the full force of Tartarus' consciousness.

I tried to focus on that thought, tried to use it to keep my mind together, but it was so hard. My thoughts were falling apart, becoming incoherent and fragmented. I felt no pain, no emotion, not even panic. All I knew was that my mind was being rent into a thousand pieces, and there was nothing I could do stop it.

And that was all I could think. Stop it, stop it, somehow, someone, just make it stop before it was too late, before I—

Something changed.

There was a shifting in the darkness that was dissolving me, a kind of movement without motion. I felt that pressure on my soul start to move, and lift a little, but I felt also a deep, furious scrutiny turning upon me.

"You," spoke a voice, one I couldn't hear but one I knew well.

The voice of Tartarus.

The son of Chaos had sensed me - and he'd _recognised_ me.

I began to feel again, dimly, and the first thing I felt was surprise: Tartarus had sensed me, but he was letting me go, allowing my mind to reform. He did not choose to crush me, though he could do it so easily.

Something else filled the darkness for a moment, and though it was without sound, I knew it was a sort of awful laughter.

"Your time has not yet come, mortal child," whispered Tartarus. "Go back to your world, and see what you have done."

I was rising upwards now, flying through the darkness. I could still see nothing around me, nothing at all, but sensation was starting to return to me. Feeling dripped back into my mind like water into the mouth of a man dying from thirst, and I felt no fear, only relief. Little by little I came back to my body, or it came back to me—

And with a jolt, I returned to my flesh and bones, and I woke up.

Just in time to hear the explosion.

A bone-breaking sound filled the chamber air, and I felt myself being tossed into the air again. My vision was blurry, but I could vaguely see the ritual circles exploding on themselves, the magical energy dissolving and rupturing. Some of the Rheans collapsed to the ground, while others were hurled through the air like me.

I fell on the stone floor with a painful thud, somehow managing to not break any bones. My head throbbed, and my limbs were like rotten tree logs. I couldn't move, but I squinted, trying to see something.

The chamber was darkening as the torches were snuffed out, but I made out that whirlpool of shadow. It was growing larger, and some kind of shape was rising out of it, but I couldn't see what it was. I blinked, trying to clear my vision properly, but everything was still dim.

Without warning, a blast of primal energy, like a magical hurricane, filled the air. It swept over me, flattening me out completely, and I heard yells and crashes as it blew through the entire chamber with a high-pitched noise. That grew louder and louder, and I shut my eyes, trying to just breathe, waiting for it to be over. There was another sound, too, a rumbling that shook everything, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from. All I wanted, more than anything, was for it to stop.

And then it did.

The noise died down, and total silence descended on the chamber, though my ears were still ringing. I stayed completely still, unable to move, even if I wanted to. I breathed in and out, over and over, controlling the sense of panic and fear that was close to overcoming me.

* * *

I don't remember passing out, but I sure remember waking up.

Probably only a few minutes had passed, because the chamber was still silent. Painfully, I rolled myself onto my back, so that I was lying flat. I opened my eyes.

I looked around very slowly. The chamber roof was above me, which was reassuring because it meant that I wasn't buried under a thousand-ton rockfall. Torches were still flickering on a few stone columns, though most of them had been destroyed. In the dimness of the light, I could see the forms of my friends and the Rheans, all of them crumpled on the ground.

Then I became aware of a large shape in the far periphery of my vision. I shifted my head a little - gritting my teeth when my head throbbed violently - to see what it was.

What I saw made me wish I'd stayed unconscious.

A huge figure, at least thirty feet high or more, stood in the spot where the whirlpool of shadow had been. It was in the shape of a slightly hunched old man, and it was formed entirely out of solid shadow. I peered at it in confusion.

The thing had a normal shape: legs, arms, torso, all normal human things. It was clothed in some sort of shadow-cloak, and in one hand it held a massive shadow-spear. I worked my way up from the feet, coming to the face last.

I'd never really thought about what Tartarus' face would look like, but if I had, this was exactly what I would've pictured. The shadow-figure's face was like the face of an old man - if that man was older than man's invention time, with deep lines of hatred and fury etched deep into his brow. The nose was hooked and gnarled, like a warped tree. The mouth and cheekbones were a vague mass, with no definable shape.

The eyes were the worst of all. They were sunk deep in the shadow-skull, and flickered in shades of grey and black. The awful thing about them was the sense of terrible emptiness that emanated from them. Looking at those eyes made me feel as though I lay, not merely on the edge of an abyss, but in the very depths of one.

"It's just an avatar," a tired voice said, to my left. I would've jumped, if I had the energy. I looked around wearily, and found Jake Wilson standing over me.

"That's not actually Tartarus," he said, meeting my eyes and nodding, as though reassuring me. "It's just an avatar of his consciousness. It formed just now, because of how his presence in this world has strengthened."

I glared up at him, still unable to rise. I did, however, find my voice.

"Why don't you just," I murmured, my voice a mere croak but somehow defiant, "kill me?"

Wilson moved, and I tensed, ready to roll away from an attack, but he simply knelt down on his hunkers next to me. To my surprise, he dropped his sword on the ground.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, more serious than before. "There's no point. I told you before, Cyrus. I don't just randomly kill people, I don't kill unless it's my last option."

"But," I said, frowning, "I'm the Lightbringer, right? The one who's meant to stop you and…"

It was hard to say Tartarus' name with his dark form looming right over me, but I didn't need to. Wilson understood, and smiled.

"That's true," he said, with a nod. "The truth is, though, the prophecy doesn't matter anymore. You don't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping Tartarus if you aren't working with the demigods."

I stared up at Wilson blankly. My thoughts felt a little disjointed.

"I don't understand," I murmured, shaking my head. "Why _wouldn't_ I be working with the demigods?"

He rose back to his feet, and beckoned me to do the same. "Look around," he said.

Feeling a little stronger now, I got my feet under me, and straightened up slowly, looking around. I'd already had a sense of what I'd see, but Wilson's words put things in a different light.

He and I were the only two people upright in the chamber. The half-bloods and the Rheans were all on the ground, unconscious. They were strewn all around the chamber, some injured, a few quite probably dead. All the trappings of the ritual had been destroyed, and only a handful of the stone columns were still standing. The monsters were all gone, at least, but that was a small comfort, when the dark avatar of Tartarus was towering over everything.

I glanced at that form again briefly, but quickly turned my back to it. It was unmoving still, though it emanated such a terrible aura of primordial darkness that I couldn't deal with looking at it.

"What happened?" I asked Wilson, even though I had a pretty good idea already. "How did this happen?"

He glanced around us again - though even he averted his eyes from the avatar - before putting his hands in his pockets and looking at me.

"A simple mistake, really," he said, almost apologetically. "When you broke through the two ritual circles, it disrupted the energy seals that the Rheans had erected. Those seals were key: they made sure the connection between the Rheans and Tartarus was one-way, enabling them to perform the task of strengthening his prison with minimal risk of him even noticing what was happening.

"But you broke those seals, and that meant the connection became two-way. Xavier and his people could send their power down to Tartarus' prison, but once you disrupted proceedings, he was able to send some of his power right back at them. They'd opened a door into his jail, just so that they could add some security, like prison maintenance, you know? But thanks to you, Tartarus was able to get a big chunk of his consciousness through that door. So, now, more than half of his presence has been released from beneath the Sea of Chaos, despite your friends' best efforts…"

Wilson trailed off, flapping his hands in the air, as though he felt sorry for me.

I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. So after everything we'd done, we'd failed. All the planning, all the struggles, and yet the very thing we'd been trying to stop had happened anyway.

"This is a disaster," I muttered, resisting the urge to punch Wilson.

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_," he said quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not a disaster," he said, shrugging. "It _would_ be a disaster, if this had been an accident, but it wasn't. This whole thing was planned from the start."

My stomach lurched with unease. "What are you talking about?" I said, staring at Wilson in confusion.

"Look, Cyrus," he said, spreading his hands. "Tartarus has been gathering strength ever since the Second Giant War, but he needed a big event to open a way for him to pass into this world. There's no ritual to summon him, there never was, so we needed something else. The only option was to cause the rite of suppression to be performed, and to then make it backfire.

"So we began. The Olympians guard all their magical lore closely, so we had to first retrieve it from their Library. They would never give it to us, obviously, and I can't just break into the most heavily enchanted magical repository in existence. No, we had to make the half-bloods _want_ to take it from the vaults, so that I could slip in behind them."

"But the Rheans," I interjected. "What about them?"

"They were never a threat," Wilson replied calmly. "In hindsight, it was better that Xavier intervened, because it made it easier to remove the book from the Library. Anyway, it never really mattered who took the ritual. The important thing was that we put it into circulation. If the half-bloods got it, they'd inevitably realise that it was a rite for suppressing Tartarus, and they'd perform it. The Rheans knew its real purpose, so they'd be sure to do it. If I got it, same result. Xanatos Gambit."

"And then?" I said. It was bad enough that this had happened: that it had been designed made it all so much more frustrating. What hope did we have against this level of Machiavellian strategy?

"Then it was a simple question of how to make the ritual backfire," Wilson went on, starting to sound a little proud. No doubt he'd developed this part of the master plan. "The best way would be to push someone into the ritual circles, but the energy of this ritual incinerates anyone with godly blood if they try to intrude. So, it had to be a mortal, and who better than my favourite mortal of all, Cyrus Wright? I made sure you were here—"

"How the hell could you have done _that_?" I snapped, feeling increasingly overwhelmed and outmatched.

"The dracaena," he said simply. "I figured that if you were randomly attacked by a monster, you'd go right back to camp. That made sure you were available to be on the rescue team, and of course Chiron couldn't resist putting the pure-sighted mortal on the mission."

He said _rescue_ with a deeply sardonic tone. I eyed him, anger surging through me. He said nothing more, but I understood the rest. He knew I'd end up confronting him, especially once I'd seen Nico. Then, it was easy for the son of Erebus to make sure I was in the right place, at the right time.

Wilson sighed, looking around again, but this time I saw the air of satisfaction, like a craftsman pleased with a fine piece of work.

"The best part," he murmured, as another torch went out, "is that all this will be blamed on one person - one different from the rest, the perfect scapegoat. Who do you think it'll be?"

I held his gaze, but didn't speak. I didn't need to reply to that question. We both knew the answer.

"So, Cyrus," said Wilson, picking up his sword and sheathing it, "That's why there's no need for me to kill you. There's no way in hell the half-bloods are going to work with you after this."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Author's Note: And here we are, at last at the end of this overly long instalment of my saga. i hoped you've enjoyed it. I must confess to being underwhelmed by my lack of readers and reviewers, though I have every confidence that by the time you read this, things will have improved.**

**The first draft of book four is finished. I can tell you that it is entitled Initiative, and that publication should begin in the autumn. In the meantime, enjoy this, the last chapter of the third act.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

_When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes._

–Dylan Thomas

* * *

I barely remember getting back to camp.

Wilson vanished away after his speech, and the half-bloods woke up not long after that. Jane shadow-travelled us back, before the Rheans woke up and tried to kill us for screwing up their ritual. She split us up into three groups, to make the journey easier on her. As soon as the last group materialised from the shadows at the side of the Big House, she fainted from sheer exhaustion.

I, along with Alex, volunteered to bring her back to the infirmary. I did it less out of a wish to help, but more out of a desire to get away from the other half-bloods before they could turn accusatory gazes upon me. No-one had yet said anything that suggested that they blamed me for the disaster, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Most of them didn't yet understand what had happened.

Jane wasn't the only one who needed to go to the infirmary. Around half of the group - including Annabeth - had been injured in one way or another. Alex, Olivia and I took them all to the Big House's medical wing, while a son of Apollo ran to get help from his cabin. Meanwhile, Percy gave Chiron a general report on what had happened.

I sat in the infirmary for a little while, amidst the restrained franticness of medical treatment, unsure what to do next. Eventually, word came from Chiron that anyone who was neither injured nor treating the injured was to go to bed.

"He said we'll discuss everything tomorrow," said Percy, who delivered the message.

By this time, it was near midnight. Exhausted, and glad to lose myself in the unknowing silence of sleep, I hurried to the Hermes cabin, and threw myself on my bed.

* * *

My dreams were dark that night: full of fractured images, confused, unformed ideas, watching shadows and fading light. I was tumbling through it all, like a grain of sand caught up in a great, incorporeal desert storm. Nothing became solid long enough for me to recognise it, and everything was permeated by the sense that something had been irreparably broken or lost.

When I finally woke, around ten o'clock, I felt almost as tired as I'd been before I'd gone to sleep. If anything, I felt worse, because I awoke knowing that the previous night had been far more than just a bad dream.

Still, there was nothing I could do but get up. The cabin was empty: all the Hermes kids had obviously risen and left without waking me, which I was grateful for. I didn't want to be the first one to tell them what had happened.

I dressed slowly, not wasting energy on rushing. I knew breakfast was long over, and anyway I wasn't hungry. I had a feeling that it wouldn't really matter if I missed a couple classes, either. As I finished tying my shoes, I decided to avoid talking to anyone until we had the inevitable post-mortem council. The fewer people I had to tell last night's story, the better.

With that in mind, I left my cabin and headed for the forest. Despite my natural aversion for the place, absolutely no-one would be near there at this time, so it was the perfect spot for solitude. I slipped through the trees, watching for monsters, just in case. It wasn't until I was well into the woods that I began to think, properly, about my conversation with Wilson.

I started with trying to convince myself that he was wrong about my relationship with the demigods. After all, he wasn't exactly one who could be trusted to tell the truth. How did _he_ know that the half-bloods would turn against me over my mistakes? He clearly had no concept of kindness or compassion. A misanthrope like him was always going to assume the worst.

But, as I walked among the trees, I knew that wasn't true. Wilson wasn't really a misanthrope: he only hated the gods, and he wasn't some kind of merciless murderer.

And as I thought back, I couldn't think of any occasion when he'd flat-out lied to my face. He'd manipulated me and tricked me, sure, but as far as I knew, he'd never explicitly told me something untrue.

In any case, I didn't need him to tell me something that was already obvious. If I were a demigod, my failings would be accepted - with difficulty, but they would be forgiven. As a mortal, though, I was in a different game. I wasn't a part of the half-blood community: I was just some guy who happened to be there for some obscure reason that no-one quite understood. I had a few half-blood friends who'd be the exceptions, but in general, the children of the gods would always view me as an outsider.

What I realised then, as I paused to lean against a thick-barked tree, was that maybe I wanted that. Maybe I didn't _really_ want to be part of Camp Half-Blood.

Maybe I didn't want to be the Lightbringer.

The sound of snapping wood made me start and nearly knock my head on the tree trunk. It was the unmistakeable noise of someone stepping on a fallen branch, and it was only a few feet to my left. I didn't look around, not wanting to invite any conversation.

"Cyrus," said Jane, suddenly right in front of me.

I stared at her. Her face was haggard, her eyes dulled, and her disordered clothes showed that she'd put on her clothes in a hurry - or perhaps she'd just slept in them.

"Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?" I said, carefully, because there was a dangerous look in her eyes that I didn't understand.

"I'm fine," Jane replied, with a dismissive shake of her head. Her aura was dimmed, no doubt drained from her excessive power usage yesterday. It wasn't completely still, though: shivers of energy ran through it every now and then, like spikes on a brain monitor.

"You don't _look_ fine," I said, crossing my arms.

She ignored my comment, and glanced around quickly, before saying edgily, "I came to talk to you."

"So I gathered," I replied, feeling a little irritated. "But you need to be resting. Whatever you have to say to me can't be that important, can it? For Christ's sake, Jane, you need to look after—"

"I'm leaving," she said, abruptly and quickly, choking the words out, as though afraid of uttering them aloud.

I stopped speaking with equal abruptness, unsure if I'd heard her properly. I held her gaze for a long moment, but there was no doubting it. That look in her eye was one of defiance and anger. It was the look of someone who'd had enough.

"Why?" I said quietly.

Jane turned her head away, her eyes half-closed. We stood in silence for a long time. I didn't prompt her again, but let her find the words by herself. Birds flickered by overhead, reminding me of the last time we'd stood together, alone, in the Black Woods.

So much had changed since then.

"I just don't believe in the gods anymore, alright?" she said finally, looking at me again. "I just don't. They're meant to be the good guys, but as far as I can tell, we live in a world where there _aren't_ any good guys."

I felt a bit like that myself sometimes, but I didn't want to make this about me, and I replied, "So you're going to leave camp. Okay. Then what? You go home, and hope the monsters don't bother you, hope that you can get by on the training you've had? How is that any better?"

"What do you think?" Jane replied, her tone sharper than before. "I'm not an idiot, Cyrus. There's only one way to make sure I'm safe. I'm joining Jake."

I knew she had her reasons and all, but right then I really had to resist the urge to start yelling. Instead, I took a long, deep breath. Technically, this had nothing to do with me, and starting a raging row would just make things worse. I channelled my anger.

"So after everything we've done," I said, my voice surprisingly neutral even as I stepped closer to her, my arms folded, "after everything that we've all done, you're just going to join the other side? _Why_?"

Jane shook her head, avoiding my eyes. "I'm not just doing this for me, Cyrus, I'm doing this for my dad. At least if I'm on Jake's side I won't have to worry about him being attacked by monsters. We can be safe, him and me."

She glanced up at me, and I looked her dead in the eye for a brief moment. I felt a strong sense that she really wasn't telling me the whole story. Sure, what she was saying explained some of this, but there was another aspect here that she wasn't revealing.

I felt a little hurt, as well as angry. Surely she could at least be truthful with me? Did our friendship really mean _that_ little?

Then again, maybe she wasn't even being wholly truthful with herself.

"You're not going to change my mind, so there's no point trying," Jane said, her voice quivering only a little as she stepped away. "I'm going, Cyrus. You're the only one I'm telling, so I hope you see that this is nothing to do with you."

"Yeah, awesome," I said, flapping my arms in the air. "Nothing to do with me. That's fine, then."

Jane sighed, shaking her head, though at me or at herself, I couldn't tell. "Goodbye, Cyrus."

Without looking at me again, she turned away and began walking towards a thicker clump of trees, a few feet away, where the shadows were dense. I watched her, knowing that she was about to shadow-travel away. A hundred possible things to say and do ran through my mind, but none of them would have made a difference. Jane was beyond my help. She'd _put_ herself beyond my help.

My anger finally spilling out, I called after her.

"Just remember, Jane," I said. "The darkness is quick to embrace you, but it's a lot slower to let you go."

I turned away. I didn't need to see her leave. She'd made her choice.

Now it was time to make mine.

* * *

I headed straight for the Big House, and found that the counsellors - or, in some cases, their deputies - were already assembling there for the post-mortem meeting.

For post-mortem it was. Oh, sure, they called it "battle analysis council" or whatever the hell, but we all knew we were to discuss the reasons why we'd screwed up so epically.

I avoided everyone's gazes as we filed into the rec room. It was only when we'd assembled around the ping-pong table that I took in who was present.

Quite a few of the counsellors were injured, so their cabins were represented by the seconds-in-command. Zack was standing in for Annabeth, a bullish-looking son of Ares for Clarisse, a daughter of Apollo with a suspicious glare was Alice's substitute, and the Hecate cabin was represented by Alex, rather than Olivia. The rest of the council was made up of Percy, Anna Fields, Leo, Piper, and a few minor god kids.

With a sense of unease, I realised that I didn't know most of the people in the room. Not only that, but most of them were friends of Zack. This, along with the angry and vengeful looks that the son of Athena was shooting my way, made me feel like a man headed for his execution.

Still, at least I knew they couldn't _actually_ kill me.

Chiron called the meeting to order with an air of grim determination.

"First of all," he began, "I would like to be certain that I have a clear understanding of how the mission to Alcatraz transpired. I ask all those who were there to give us an account of what occurred."

Alex and I initially took the lead in reporting, since we'd been among the first into the chamber. Chiron remained stonily silent throughout, not even speaking when we explained the revelation that the ritual did exactly the opposite to what the gods had told us. Some of the other counsellors looked like they wanted to comment at that point, but Chiron's immovable expression deterred them.

We told the story up until when Percy's half of the team broke into the chamber, and then the son of Poseidon joined in. He recounted how Wilson had tricked them into breaking our shield, and how everything had subsequently collapsed into chaotic battle. Zack then explained how Nico had emerged.

"He was using his powers to keep up the monsters' numbers," he recounted, his tone cold. "It was difficult to ascertain whether or not he was operating under duress. It is possible that he has joined the Tartareans of his—"

"Don't be absurd," I cut in, unable to restrain myself. "Chiron, Nico's eyes were completely black, and there was something wrong with his aura. He was being controlled."

I cast a disgusted glance across the table at Zack, but he simply looked back at me with an cold, unwavering gaze.

Percy and Zack together then explained how, after a short while, the battle had been blown apart when the ritual had gone wrong.

"It was like a tornado was ripping everything to pieces," Percy said, shaking his head. "All the monsters were blown to nothing, and there was this… darkness sweeping around, wrecking everything."

"It was a very high-intensity power discharge," Zack added crisply. "All the energy from the ritual was released, along with even more power from the son of Chaos himself."

"What exactly caused this?" Chiron asked, though his tone made it clear that he had a pretty good idea already.

Everyone, without hesitation, turned their gaze at me.

"I got into a tangle with Wilson," I said, meeting the centaur's eyes uneasily. There was no judgement there, at least, but I got a sense that there was a damned big philosophical gulf between him and the half-bloods. "I confronted him after I saw what had been done to Nico."

I related, in briefest terms, what had taken place. Chiron listened to this part of the report impassively, just as he'd taken in everything else so far. I watched him, as I told of how I'd been thrown into the ritual circle, and how my mind had nearly been destroyed by its contact with Tartarus.

"But he let me go, I don't know why. And then…" I frowned, feeling there was something about that meeting of minds with the ancient primordial that I was forgetting. I had that sense that there was something just in the corner of my mind, something important, but it was out of reach.

I shook my head. "Anyway, then I woke up, and I was flung around in that energy release thing. I went unconscious again for a few minutes, after that."

I took a long breath before telling the next part. This was the bit that was almost certainly going to get me lynched.

See, by the time the half-bloods had woken up, Tartarus' avatar had dissipated, broken up, leaving barely a trace behind. I hadn't dared to mention it to anyone, knowing that no-one wanted to hear that the avatar of an ancient primordial entity had formed over them while they'd been unconscious.

But they heard about it now. The colour quickly drained from everyone's faces as I described Tartarus' towering, ghostly figure looming in the chamber. I also recounted my conversation with Wilson, though I left out the whole part about him predicting the half-bloods turning against me. I didn't need to be giving them any ideas.

A kind of hollow silence fell over everyone when I finished. Chiron's arms were tightly folded, as he gazed into empty space. Some half-bloods, especially those I didn't know, were eyeing me warily, as though unsure whether I was joking or not. Others, like Percy, were just shaking their heads dismally, as though this was the end of all hope.

Very few of them looked sympathetic to my point of view. Just as I'd expected, the majority of the demigods were immediately focussing on my role in the disaster, rather than paying heed to how everything had been manipulated by Jake.

All these people - most of whom I'd never, to my own cost, tried to befriend - were quickly turning against me.

"And all this happened," said Zack, very quietly, "because you were overpowered by Wilson."

I looked at him without speaking, mentally refusing to be drawn into a fight.

"Why did you have to confront him, Cyrus?" he said, shaking his head sadly.

I came very close to snapping in reply to that one, but luckily Chiron broke in first.

"Well, this is all very clear to me," he said, rubbing his brow. "Tartarus needed to make a substantial connection with our world to further his rise, but his prison is built to _stop_ him from connecting with our world, so he needed us to reach down to him. Through Wilson, he manipulated the situation so that someone at our end would open the way, and then it simply took a disruption of the magical constraints on the ritual for him to overpower the Rheans and force his presence into this upper world."

"And Cyrus supplied the perfect means to cause that disruption," Zack snapped, leaning on the table and glaring over at me.

"Zack, please—" Chiron said, though he sounded more than a little half-hearted. Too many of the half-bloods were scowling in my direction for the centaur to wave away the objections.

"_No_, Chiron," the son of Athena insisted, raising one condemnatory finger. "No. I saw the ritual. Neither a demigod nor a half-blood would have been capable of disrupting it - they would have been fried by the protective energies. Only two beings could successfully disturb such a powerful magical circle: a god or a mortal."

No-one spoke, not even Chiron. I didn't even waste my time looking around for my support. This was a battle in which no-one would help me.

"What are you saying, Zack?" I asked, finally meeting his eyes properly.

"I'm saying," he declared, his eyebrows crumpled tightly in a dark frown, "that since you allowed yourself to be used to disturb the ritual, you are fully responsible for what happened. _You_ are to blame for Tartarus' rise."

I stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing. I obviously understood his point - it was not only valid, it was the very thing that I'd been obsessing over since last night.

But in another way, it was absurd. Sure, I'd been used to cause the disturbance, but how could I have known that it would happen? It was an unknown unknown - I could have never foreseen it. You can't prevent something you don't expect.

I decided to try to prove this to Zack - to everyone - but I had a deep feeling, in my gut, that there was little point. If I was honest with myself, I knew how this argument was going to end.

"Okay, Zack," I said, making an effort to keep my tone calm and reasonable. "I understand your point, I really do. Just think, though. It's not like I deliberately hurled myself into the ritual with the intent of aiding the rise of a deadly, ancient primordial entity. Wilson caused this: he pushed me in."

"Yes. So?" Zack replied tightly. "You should have made sure that didn't happen. Why on Olympus were you fighting him, anyway? You, a mortal, with minimal training and experience. What _possible_ hope did you have of defeating Jake Wilson, a deadly and highly-skilled half-blood?"

I looked away, my anger rising along with disbelief at what he was saying. I glanced around the table vaguely, starting to wish for a little support, but there wasn't much to be found. Percy was more or less on my side, judging by his uneasy glances at Zack and Chiron, but most of the other demigods looked grim. There was hardly anyone in the room who knew me well enough to be my ally, and plenty who knew Zack well enough to be his.

I thought of Annabeth - if she were here, if she hadn't been injured, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Zack wouldn't have had the opportunity to treat me like some kind of war criminal. While most of the demigods weren't happy about me, very few had the tenacity to directly confront me.

For the thousandth time, I felt a strong awareness of Nico's loss. If he was still with us, we would have never been so completely manipulated by Tartarus.

Chiron, at least, was largely sympathetic towards me, but I got the sense from his mournfully neutral gaze that there was little he could to help me if all these half-bloods were truly, implacably ranged against me.

(And behind all of that, there was the question that I kept asking myself: was this what I wanted?)

"And anyway," Zack said suddenly, "how do we _know_ that it wasn't deliberate?"

My gaze snapped back over to him.

"What did you say?" I whispered.

"You heard what I said."

Deep anger rose within me, pushing away all other emotions as I processed the implications of his statement. The son of Athena was suggesting that I was actually _working_ for Tartarus, that I was some sort of traitor. This sly, snide questioning of my integrity was just too much. Maybe I was incompetent, maybe I was a fool, maybe I was nothing more than an unhelpful mortal, but I was _not_ a _liar_.

"What is that you _want_, Zack?" I said coldly, stepping right up to the ping-pong table and leaning on it. "All these accusations, all these implications… what's the point? What is that you _want_ from me?"

Everyone in the room were now fully focussed on Zack and I, their eyes darting back from one end of the ping-pong table to the other, as though it was a real game of table tennis. I could tell, just from looking at each demigod's aura, who was with me and who wasn't, but it didn't matter. If I were a half-blood in this situation, anyone who supported me would have already shouted Zack down, but the fact that I was a mortal meant that that bond of comradeship wasn't there.

"Look, Cyrus," Zack said calmly, changing his tack a little, "this isn't personal. I understand your position. I'm just trying to play my part in finding out where things went wrong, so that we can make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Don't play nice guy, Zack, it really doesn't suit you," I said, my attempt to be diplomatic crumbling into tiny pieces beneath the weight of my growing fury. "You've always hated me, and you've always wanted me out of camp."

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I don't hate you. I simply believe that a mortal cannot be an effective part of a demigod team. It doesn't matter what sort of sight you have: you just don't have the capacity to fit into the kind of dangerous situations that we're faced with."

I met his eyes for a long moment. There was nothing but pure resolve there: not even hatred, though there was enough anger. I realised that he really believed what he said: he didn't really have anything against me as an individual, it was just that he couldn't accept me into his world, because of my very nature.

That annoyed me even more. If he had a personal grievance with me it wouldn't have been so bad, but this? Dismissing me on the grounds of my mortality? That, as far as I was concerned. was only a few shades away from racism.

"So that's it, huh?" I said, flapping my hands derisively. "One mistake, and you write me off? How is that fair?"

"But it's not just _one_ mistake," Zack said, tilting his head to one side. "There's been lots of them. What about on Olympus, when you let Xavier get away with the ritual?"

"Okay, but—"

"And your combat skills are dubious at the best of times—"

"That's not—"

"And how do we know that your incompetence didn't lead to Nico di Angelo being taken by the son of Chaos, at the Edge of the West?"

My fists clenched into two tight balls, and I had to restrain myself from leaping across the table at Zack's smug face. Anger boiled within me. After everything I'd tried to do, this was how I was treated? Everyone watched me, but no-one spoke. No-one tried to defend me, because they couldn't bring themselves to, not even Percy.

I could see it in them all, even those sympathetic to me: You're a mortal. You just don't understand. You don't know what it takes.

You never will.

I took a long, shuddering breath, before meeting Zack's uncompromising stare once more. He raised his eyebrows at me, as though waiting for me to defend myself, for me to try to prove that I was able to do what a half-blood can do.

"Okay," I said, my anger driving my words. I threw my hands in the air, speaking without thinking. "You know what? Screw you. Screw all of you. I don't care anymore."

I turned from the table, and started walking away.

"Cyrus—" I heard a voice say, probably Chiron.

"No!" I spat, whirling around. "I'm not doing this. If I'm working with you, I'm doing the best I can. I don't accept these— these _insinuations_. I'm worth as much as every single _one_ of you, and if you can't accept that, I will have _nothing_ to do with this place _ever_ again."

I stared around, meeting each gaze furiously, without blinking. No-one spoke, no-one even moved, until Zack folded his arms and looked at me squarely.

"Your place isn't here, I think, Cyrus," he said. "It never was."

I didn't even wait for him to finish speaking. I turned away, and strode towards the door. By the time he'd fallen silent, I was already slamming it behind me and heading out of the Big House. I dashed through camp to the Hermes cabin, evading the questions and cries of passing half-bloods.

Within ten minutes, I'd left Half-Blood Hill behind me.

I didn't look back.


	26. Epilogue

**Author's Note: This is getting predictable.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness III - Middlegame**

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

The end of the world began on a cold, dark day in the middle of June.

The sky outside my bedroom window was an iron grey, like a sword dulled by too much blood. Dark clouds had reached the city a few days before, and since then the light of the sun had been kept from us, as though withheld by some celestial director.

And there was something else. The weather had an oppressive edge to it that was nothing to do with rain or sunshine. The clouds had brought with them an ominous atmosphere, as though they were the harbinger, or perhaps just the forewarning, of wicked things yet to come.

But that had to be my morbidly overactive imagination playing tricks on me.

I sat in my room, reading a book, now and then glancing out at the strange weather. I'd just returned from a visit to a friend: I'd gotten a lot better at dealing with normal human beings in the last few months. My time at a camp full of crazy demigods had done wonders for my people skills.

Now, as I looked up at the sky on this odd June day, I was thinking about Camp Half-Blood for the first time in weeks. I hadn't been back since December, nor had I felt any need to return.

At first, when I'd stormed out of camp after a terminal argument with Zack Walker, I'd assumed I'd hear from Chiron again. I thought he'd send an emissary, just as he did the first time I'd left the demigod sanctuary, when Nico di Angelo had come to my home to guilt-trip me into coming back.

No-one had come. The months went by, and I was relieved as the span of days separated me from Camp Half-Blood. It was as though the whole melodramatic world of living Greek mythology had never even existed. By May, I was convinced that I would never hear anything from that world again. It was a bad dream, painful for a moment but soon forgotten.

But today, for the first time I thought that I'd been hasty in that judgement. I didn't know why, but I was filled with an instinct which had never been wrong before, an inner surety which told me that something was coming.

(It was only much later that I realised it was two years to the day since Nico had come on that guilt-tripping mission.

Talk about history repeating itself.)

There was something else, too. I had the odd feeling that I'd forgotten something, mislaid some crucial information amidst the madness. But I had no idea what, it was just a question without words at the edge of my mind.

So these were my thoughts, as I sat at the window. The apartment was quiet, with my dad working in the shop downstairs and my mom shut up in her study. I could hear only the formless rumbles of traffic in the street below, and the faint noises of people coming into the shop.

The calmness made it very easy to sense the approach of the Olympian.

I turned over a page, and felt a familiar tension form in my gut. It was abrupt and intense, the kind of feeling experienced when you find a heavy object hurtling towards you without warning. It was also the pressure I felt when I was in the presence of a god.

I glanced around the room, shutting my book. There was a pressure at the back of my head, too, but not a headache. It was more like the uneasy sensation of running out of oxygen.

I suddenly felt afraid. The terror of the unknown filled me as the tension in my gut worsened. I didn't know what was going on, and only the thought of the protective wards, installed on the apartment nearly two years before, kept me still.

And then, with a cold sharpness, I was certain that there was someone standing outside my bedroom door. This wasn't even instinct. I _knew_ something was about to step into the room. I stared at the door, trying to remember where I'd left my dagger. If a monster had come for me, my only choice would be to fight, but I didn't know where the damn weapon was—

I started to stand up, when the door swung open and Lady Hestia, goddess of the hearth, stepped into my bedroom.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**IN**

**PIECE OF DARKNESS IV - INITIATIVE**

**September 4th, 2015**


End file.
